HA 


SER 


»»«'>^«»M«I^CT|>»»«'«..»nn-wniii 


In  Memory  of  Donald  G.  Mitchell. 

There  are  men  with  great  minds  and  great  hearts  who  will 
not  devote  their  powers  to  selfish  struggle  for  wealth  or 
fame,  but  who  so  love  their  native  land  with  all  its  simple, 
common,  every-day  men  and  women,  its  simple  joys  of  field 
and  woodland,  orchard,  home  and  child  life  that  they  devote 
their  lives  to  service  of  their  fellow  men.  Such  a  man 
was  Donald  G.  Mitchell.  Years  before  most  of  us  were 
born  he  was  esteemed  as  one  of  the  great  writers  of 
America,  a  man  of  education,  of  culture,  of  wide  travel 
ing,  a  genius  who  knew  the  secrets  of  the  human  heart, 
a  poet  who  interpreted  aright  the  lessons  of  life  and  the 
aspirations  of  mankind.  He  might,  had  he  chosen,  lived 
always  among  the  great  and  the  rich,  might  have  dwelt 
in  cities  and  traveled  often  abroad.  Instead  he  bought 
a  farm  in  a  fertile  valley  of  New  England,  a  farm  having 
that  charming  New  England  combination  of  meadow  and 
hillside  and  forest,  and  there  he  settled  down  to  live,  to 
do  his  real  serious  work  in  life.  That  was  Edgewood,  and 
there  he  wrote,  little  by  little,  "My  Farm  at  Edgewood." 
probably  the  most  interesting  and  charming  farm  book  yet 
written. 

Living  there  at  Edgewood  the  good  old  poet  wrote  in 
living  green  of  trees  and  vines,  of  flowers  and  grass  and 
of  growing  crops  real  poems  that  were  much  more  satis 
fying  to  him  than  any  that  he  had  written  in  black  and 
white  in  books.  There  his  dreams  came  true.  There  his 
children  grew  up  beside  him,  his'  orchards,  his  gardens,  his 
marvelously  beautiful  tree-enclosed  lawn,  his  mountainside* 
all  forested,  his  fertile  fields  well  tilled,  all  together  made 
a  combination  that  might  well  fill  his  life  with  joy. 

When  I  was  only  a  little  boy  I  read  over  and  over  again 
the  one  book  "My  Farm  at  Edgewood"  and  it  taught  me 
very  many  things  that  have  made  me  a  saner,  simpler, 
wiser  man,  satisfied  with  natural  things,  believing  in  the 
fields  and  meadows  and  in  the  goodness  of  country  living, 
and  in  living  that  came  from  the  fields  and  was  a  direct 
expression  of  them.  Such  was  the  teaching  of  Donald  G. 
Mitchell.  And  so  when  many  years  had  passed  away  and 
I  one  day  found  myself  timidly  knocking  at  the  gates  of 
i  Edgewood  it  was  with  rare  and  astonished  joy  that  I 
J  learned  that  it  had  none  of  it  been  a  dream,  that  Edge- 
wood  yet  existed  little  changed,  that  it  was  yet  more 
beautiful  than  a  dream,  that  Donald  G.  Mitchell  yet  lived, 
yet  worked,  though  not  so  much  any  more,  and  that  yet 
his  thought  went  out  toward  others,  that  he  even  read  THK 
GAZETTE. 

I  sat  beside  him  and  looked  at  him  long  and  with  love 
and  wonder.  What  a  grand  man  he  was  to  look  upon, 
a  great  man,  a  lion  among  men  !  If  one  knew  nothing  at 
all  of  his  work  he  would  yet  look  a  great  man.  And  the 
thought  came  and  abode  with  me,  "Why  here  is  this  man, 
one  of  our  greatest  Americans,  living  simply,  naturally, 
on  the  soil  among  the  trees  that  he  has  planted,  the  vines 
and  flowers  that  he  has  planted,  surrounded  by  the  farm 
acres  that  he  has  tilled  and  enriched  and  made  beautiful, 


GIFT  OF 


MY    FARM 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR. 


Just  Published,  in  neat  pocket  Edition*: 

DREAM  LIFE.    A  Fable  of  the  Seasons.     One  vol.  HMO.      Printed  on    fine  tinted 
paper,  and  bound  in  vellum  cloth.     Price  $1.75. 

REVERIES  OF  A   BACHELOR.    A  Book  of  the  Heart    One  voL  16mo.    Printed  on 
fine  tinted  paper,  and  bound  in  vellum  cloth.    Price  $U6. 

Copitt  tent  by  mail,  pott-paid,  on  receipt  of  prio*. 


MY  FARM 

OF  EDGEWOOD 

x- 

A  COUNTRY   BOOK. 


BY  THE   AUTHOR   OF 

REVERIES    OF    A    BACHELOR." 


— "it  was  all  grown  over  with  thorns,  and  nettles 
covered  the  face  thereof,  and  the  stone-wall  thereof  was 
broken  down.  Then  I  saw  and  considered  it  well :  Hooked 
upon  it,  and  received  instruction." — PROVERBS  xxiv.  31. 


NEW-YORK  : 
SCRIBNER,  ARMSTRONG  &  CO. 

1872. 


ENTERED,  according  to  Aet  of  Congress,  In  the  year  1S63,  by 

OHAELES  SCPJBNER, 

In  tlic  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  ol  tne  United  States  foi  th2 
Southern  District  of  New  York. 


MY    OLD    FRIEND, 

GEN.   WILLIAM  WILLIAMS, 

OF  NORWICH, 
IN   GRATEFUL  RECOGNITION  OF  HIS  MANY  KINDNESSES, 

DATING  FROM  THE  T,  if  IS 

WHEN  HE  AIDED  ME  IN  MY  FIRST  CARE  OF  A  NEW  ENGLAaj.   eARM: 
AND  IN  TOKEN   OF  MY  RESPECT  FOR  HIS    WORTH, 

I  DEDICATE 

THIS  TRANSCRIPT  OF  ANOTHER  AND  LATER 
FARM   EXPERIENCE. 


256332 


PREFACE. 


A  FRIEND  afks, — "Are  you  not  tired,  then,  of  that 
fancy  of  Farming?  Is  it  not  an  expensive  amuse 
ment  ;  is  it  not  a  stupefying  bufmess  ? 

"  Do  you  find  your  brain  taking  breadth  or  color  out 
of  Carrot-raiting,  or  Pumpkins  ?  Poultry  is  a  pretty  thing, 
between  Tumblers,  and  Muscovy  ducks ;  but  can  you  not 
buy  cheaper  than  you  raise, — without  the  fret  of  foxes  and 
vermin,  — in  any  city  market  ? 

"  Shall  I  sell  out  and  join  you  ?  Shall  I  teach  this  boy 
of  mine  (you  know  his  physique  and  that  gray  eye  of  nis, 
looking  after  some  eidolon)  to  love  the  country — so  far  as 
to  plant  himself  there,  and  grow  into  the  trade  of  farming  ? 
A  victory  over  the  forces  of  nature,  and  of  the  seafons, — 
compelling  them  to  abundance, — is  no  doubt  large  ;  but  is 
not  a  victory  over  the  forces  of  mind,  which  can  only 


viii  PREFACE. 

come    out    of  sharp  contact  with    the    world,    immenfely 
larger?" 

In  my  reply, — loving  the  country  as  I  do,  and  wifhing 
to  set  forth  its  praifes ;  and  believing  as  I  do,  in  the  God- 
appointed  duty  of  working  land  to  its  top  limit  of  pro 
ducing  power, — I  said  a  great  deal  that  looked  like  a  mild 
Georgic. 

And  yet,  with  a  feeling  for  his  poor  boy,  and  a  re 
membrance  of  what  crisp  salads  I  had  found  in  the  city 
markets,  after  mine  were  all  mined  and  devoured  by  the 
field-mice, — I  wrote  a  great  deal  that  had  the  twang  of 
Melibceus  in  the  eclogue, 

EN  IPSE  CAPELLAS 

PROTENUS  JEGER  AGO  ! 

In  short,  in  my  reply,  I  beat  about  the  bufh : — so  much 
about  the  bum  in  fact,  that  this  book  came  of  it. 

EDGEWOOD,   1863. 


CONTENTS 


FA01 

I.— THE  SEARCH  AND  FINDING,       .  .1 

II.—  TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND. 

AROUND  THE  HOUSE,     .......      48 

MY  BEES,  .' 49 

CLEARING  UP,     ........      54 

WHAT  TO  Do  WITH  THE  FARM,         .  .          .          .          .62 

DAIRYING,  ......  .          .      67 

LABORERS,  ....•••.78 

A  SUNNY  FRONTAGK,  .          •  .90 

FARM  BUILDINGS,          .......     94 

THE  CATTLE,       ........    101 

HI.-  -CROPS  AND  PROFITS. 

THE  UILL  LAND,           .......  113 

THE  FAKM   FLAT, 123 

AN  ILLUSTRATION  OP  SOILING,           .....  132 

AN  OLD  ORCHARD,        ....•».  139 

THE  PEARS,         ........  149 

MY  GARDEN, ;  ,156 

FINE  TILTH  MAKES  FINE  CROPS,       ....  16J 


x  .  CONTENTS. 

PAGH 

SEEDING  AND  TRENCHING,       ......  164 

How  A  GARDEN  SHOULD  LOOK,                   .                       .  167 

THE  LESSEE  FRUITS,     .......  171 

GRAPES,  .           .           .           .  -         .           .           .           .            .  179 

PLUMS,  APRICOTS,  AND  PEACHES,       .....  184 

THE  POULTRY,    ......                       .  188 

Is  IT  PROFITABLE?                  •            ....           .  196 

DEBIT  AND  CREDIT,      .                       •           ....  199 

MONEY-MAKING  FARMERS,      .            .....  205 

DOES  FARMING  PAY?   .           ......  213 

IV.— HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS. 

THE  ARGUMENT,  .  .  .  .  .  .  .221 

AGRICULTURAL  CHEMISTRY,    ......  228 

A  GYPSEOUS  ILLUSTRATION,  ......  228 

SCIENCE  AND  PRACTICE,          .....  28-1 

LACK  OF  PRECISION,     .......  241 

KNOWING  TOO  MUCH,                         .           ,          .           ,           .  246 

OPPORTUNITY  FOR  CULTUBK,  ......  249 

ISOLATION  OF  FARMERS,          .  .  .  .  ,  .254 

DICKERING,         .......            .  260 

THE  BRIGHT  SIDE,  .     .           .           .           .           .           ,            .  26T 

BUSINESS  TACT,            .           .....           .  2T4 

PLACE  FOR  SCIENCE,    .......  278 

^ESTHETICS  OF  THE  BUSINESS,.           .           .     '      .           .           .  283 

WALKS, 238 

SflRXrUBERY,  ........      292 

EURAL  DECORATION,     ...,,..    299 
FLOWERS,  ........    805 

........    815 


THE  SEARCH  AND   FINDING. 


THE  SEARCH  AND  FINDING. 

IT  was  in  June,  18 — ,  that,  weary  of  a  somewhat 
long  and  vagabond  homelessness,  during  which  I 
had  tossed  some  half  a  dozen  times  across  the  Atlantic, 
— partly  from  health-seeking,  in  part  out  of  pure  va 
grancy,  and  partly  (me  tcedet  meminisse)  upon  official 
errand — I  determined  to  seek  the  quiet  of  a  homestead. 
There  were  tender  memories  of  old  farm  days  in 
my  mind ;  and  these  were  kindled  to  a  fresh  exuber 
ance  and  lustiness  by  the  recent  hospitalities  of  a 
green  English  home,  with  its  banks  of  laurestena, 
its  broad-leaved  rhododendrons,  and  its  careless 
wealth  of  primroses.  Of  course  the  decision  was  for 
the  country ;  and  I  had  no  sooner  scented  the  land, 
after  the  always  dismal  sail  across  the  fog  banks  of 
Georges'  shoal,  than  I  drew  up  an  advertisement  for 
the  morning  papers,  running,  so  nearly  as  I  can  recall 
it,  thus  : — 

1 


2  MY  FARM. 

"Wanted — A  Farm,  of  not  less  than  one  hundred 
acres,  and  within  three  hours  of  the  city.  It  must 
have  a  running  stream,  a  southern  or  eastern  slope,  not 
less  than  twenty  acres  in  wood,  and  a  water  view." 

To  this  skeleton  shape,  it  was  easy,  with  only 
moderately  active  fancy,  to  supply  the  details  of  a 
charming  country  home.  Indeed,  no  kind  of  farix. 
work  is  more  engaging,  as  I  am  led  to  believe,  than 
the  imaginative  labor  of  filling  out  a  pleasant  rural 
picture,  where  the  meaiows  are  all  lush  with  ver 
dure,  the  brooks  murmuring  with  a  contented  babble, 
cattle  lazily  grouped,  that  need  no  care,  and  flowers 
opening,  that  know  no  culture.  This  kind  of  farm 
work  is  not,  to  be  sure,  very  profitable ;  and  yet,  as 
compared  with  a  great  deal  of  the  gentleman-farm 
ing  which  I  have  had  occasion  to  observe,  I  should 
not  regard  it  as  extravagant.  Perhaps  it  would  not 
be  rash  to  put  down  here  some  of  the  pictures  which 
I  conjured  out  of  the  advertisement. 

At  times,  it  seemed  to  me  that  an  answer  might 
come  from  some  Arcadia  lying  upon  the  cove  banks  of 
an  inland  river :  the  cove  so  land-bound  as  to  seem  like 
a  bit  of  Loch  Lomond,  into  which  the  north  shores  sunk 
with  an  easy  slope,  whose  green  turf  reached  to  the 
margin,  and  was  spotted  here  and  there  with  old  and 
mossy  orcharding ;  the  west  shore  rose  in  a  stiff"  bluff 


THE  SEARCH  AND  FINDING.  3 

that  was  packed  close  with  hemlocks  and  maples ; 
while  beyond  the  bluff  a  rattling  stream  came  down 
over  mill  dykes  and  through  swift  sluices,  and  sent  its 
whirling  bubbles  far  out  into  the  bosom  of  the  little 
bay.  West  of  the  bluff  lay  the  level  farm  lands  ;  and 
northward  of  the  green  slope  which  formed  the 
northern  shore,  it  seemed  to  me  that  wooded  hills 
would  rise  steep  and  ragged,  with  such  wildness  in 
them  as  would  make  admirable  setting  for  the  sloping 
grass  land  below,  and  the  Sunday  quiet  of  the  cove. 
It  seemed  to  me  that  possibly  there  might  be  an 
oyster  bed  planted  along  the  shore,  which  would  help 
out  the  salads  that  should  be  planted  above ;  and, 
possibly,  a  miniature  dock  might  be  thrust  out  into 
the  water,  at  which  some  little  pinnace  might  float, 
with  a  gay  pennant  at  her  truck. 

Possibly  it  does ;  possibly  there  is  such  a  place  ; 
but  for  me  it  was  only  a  picture. 

Again,  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  farm  house 
would  nestle  in  some  little  glen  upon  the  banks  of 
a  river,  where  every  day  crowded  boats  passed,  surg 
ing  up  against  the  current ;  or  gliding  down  with  a 
meteor-like  swiftness. 

In  this  case,  the  slopes  were  many :  a  slope  east 
ward  from  the  house  door  to  the  banks  of  a  little 
brook  that  came  sauntering  leisurely  out  from  the 
tfood,  at  the  bottom  of  the  glen ;  a  slope  from  the 


4  MY  FARM. 

house  up  to  the  hills  piling  westward ;  slopes  on 
eithci  margin  of  the  glen ;  and  above  them,  upon 
higher  ground,  pasture  lands  dotted  with  stately 
trees ;  while  a  fat  meadow  seemed  to  lie  by  the  river 
bank,  where  the  little  brook  came  sauntering  in. 
There,  and  thereabout,  whisking  their  sides,  stood 
the  cattle,  as  in  a  Flemish  picture — as  true,  as  still, 
and  just  as  real.  There  may  be  such  cattle  whisking 
their  tails,  but  they  are  none  of  mine. 

Then,  it  seemed  the  home  should  be  upon  an  isl 
and,  looking  down  and  off  to  the  sea,  where  ships  short 
ened  sail,  and  bore  up  for  the  channel  buoys,  which 
lay  bobbing  on  the  water.  There,  the  farm  land  end 
ed  in  a  pebbly  beach,  on  which  should  lie  a  great 
drift  of  sea  weed  after  every  southeaster.  The  wood 
was  a  stately  grove  of  oaks,  taking  the  brunt  of  the 
northwesters  that  roared  around  the  house  in  autumn, 
and  making  grateful  lee  for  the  pigeons  that  dashed 
in  and  around  the  gables  of  the  barn.  The  brook 
seemed  here  a  mere  creek,  which  at  high  water  should 
be  flooded,  even  with  the  banks  of  sedge  ;  and  when 
the  tide  was  out,  showed  half  a  dozen  gushing  springs 
which  plied  their  work  jantily  till  the  ebb  came,  and 
then,  after  coquetting  and  toying  with  their  lover, 
the  sea — were  lost  in  his  embrace. 

Only  a  fancy !  If  there  be  such  a  lookout 

from  farm  windows,  the  ships  come  and  go  with- 


THE  SEARCH  AND  FINDING.  5 

out  my  knowledge  ;  and  the  springs  gush,  and  die  in 
the  flow  of  the  tide,  unknown  to  me. 

Again,  it  seemed  that  answer  would  come  from 
some  remote  valley  side,  away  from  the  great  high 
ways  of  travel,  where  neither  sail  nor  steamer  ob 
truded  on  the  eye  ; — where  indeed  a  sight  of  the  sea 
only  came  to  one  who  climbed  the  tallest  of  the  hills 
which  sheltered  the  valley.  Half  down  the  hills  an 
old  farm  house,  with  mossy  porch,  seemed  to  rest 
upon  a  shelf  of  the  land.  A  cackling,  self-satisfied, 
eager  brood  of  fowls  were  in  a  party-colored  cloud 
about  the  big  barn  doors  ;  a  burly  mastiff  loitered  in 
the  sun  by  the  house  steps,  mild-eyed  cows  were  feed 
ing  beyond  the  pasture  gate  ;  a  brook  that  was  half 
a  river,  came  sweeping  down  the  meadows  in  full 
sight — curving  and  turning  upon  itself,  and  fretting 
over  bits  of  stony  bottom,  and  loitering  in  deep 
places  under  alluvial  banks,  where  I  knew  trout  must 
lie — then  losing  itself,  upon  the  rim  of  the  farm,  in 
tangled  swamp  lands ;  where,  in  autumn,  I  knew,  if  the 
farm  should  be  mine,  I  could  see  the  maples  all  turned 
into  feathery  plumes  of  crimson.  But  I  did  not ; 
plumes  of  crimson  I  see  indeed  each  autumn,  but 
they  are  at  my  door ;  and  a  great  reach  of  water 
comes  streaming  to  my  eye  without  lifting  from  my 
chair- 
It  was  not  from  mere  caprice  that  my  advertise- 


6  MY  FARM. 

ment  had  been  worded  as  it  was.  For  the  mere  estab- 
Jishment  of  a  country  home,  one  hundred  acres  might 
seem,  an  unnecessarily  large  number,  as  indeed  it  is. 
But  I  must  confess  to  having  felt  an  anxiety  to  test 
the  question,  as  to  whether  a  country  liver  was  really 
made  the  poorer  by  all  the  acres  he  possessed  beyond 
the  one  or  two  immediately  about  his  homestead. 
Indeed  I  may  say  that  I  felt  a  somewhat  enthusiastic 
curiosity  to  know,  and  to  determine  by  actual  experi 
ment,  if  farm  lands  were  simply  a  cost  and  an  annoy 
ance  to  any  one  who  would  not  wholly  forswear  books, 
enter  the  mud  trenches  valorously,  and  take  the  pig 
by  the  ears,  with  his  own  hands. 

A  half  dozen  acres,  which  a  man  looks  after  in  the 
intervals  of  other  business,  and  sets  thick  with  his 
fancies,  in  the  shape  of  orchard  houses,  or  dwarf 
pear  trees,  or  glazed  graperies,  offer  no  solution.  All 
this  is  in  most  instances,  only  the  expression  of  an 
individualism  of  taste,  entered  upon  with  no  thought 
of  those  economies  which  Xenophon  has  illustrated 
in  his  treatise,  and  worse  than  useless  as  a  guide  to 
any  one  who  would  make  a  profession  of  agricultural 
pursuits. 

With  fifty  or  a  hundred  acres,  however,  steaming 
under  the  plough,  and  with  crops  opening  successively 
into  waving  fields  of  green, — into  feathery  blossom, — 
Into  full  maturity ;  too  large  for  waste ;  too  consid- 


THE  SEARCH  AND  FINDING.  7 

erable  fo"  home  consumption ;  enough,  in  short,  to 
be  brought  to  that  last  test  of  profit — a  market,  and 
a  price  ;  then  the  culture  and  its  costs  have  a  plain 
story  to  tell.  The  basis  will  not  be  wanting  for  an  in 
telligent  decision  of  the  question — whether  a  man  is 
richer  in  the  cultivation  of  a  hundred  acres,  or  of  ten ; 
whether,  in  short,  farming  is  a  mere  gross  employ 
ment,  remunerative,  like  other  manual  trades,  to 
those  immediately  concerned ;  or  whether  it  is  a  pur 
suit  subject  to  the  rules  of  an  intelligent  direction, 
and  will  pay  the  cost  of  such  direction,  without  every 
day  occupancy  of  the  field. 

My  advertisement  named  three  hours'  distance 
from  the  city,  as  one  not  to  be  exceeded.  Three 
hours  in  our  time  means  eighty  miles  ;  beyond  that 
distance  from  a  great  city,  one  may  be  out  of  the  ed 
dies  of  its  influence  ;  within  it,  if  upon  the  line  of 
some  connecting  railway,  he  is  fairly  in  a  suburb. 
Three  hours  to  come,  and  three  to  go,  if  the  necessity 
arise,  leave  four  hours  of  the  pith  of  the  day,  and  of 
its  best  sunshine,  for  the  usurers  of  the  town.  Double 
four  hours  of  distance,  and  you  have  a  journey  that 
is  exhausting  and  fatiguing ;  double  two  hours,  or 
less,  and  you  have  an  ease  of  transit  that  leads  into 
temptation.  If  a  man  then  honestly  determines  to  be 
a  country  liver,  I  hardly  know  a  happier  mean  of  dis 
tance  than  three  hours  from  the  city.  If,  indeed,  he 


8  MY  FARM. 

enters  upon  that  ambiguous  mode  of  life  which  is 
neither  city  nor  country,  which  knows  of  gardens  only 
in  the  night  time,  and  takes  all  its  sunshine  from  the 
pavements,  which  flits  between  the  two  without  tast 
ing  the  full  zest  of  either — of  course,  for  this  mode 
of  life,  three  hours  is  too  great  a  distance.  The  man 
who  is  content  to  live  in  grooves  on  which  he  is  shot 
back  and  forth  year  after  year — the  merest  shuttle 
of  a  commuter,— will  naturally  be  anxious  to  make  the 
grooves  short,  and  the  commutation  small. 

I  bespoke  in  my  advertisement  no  less  than  twenty 
acres  of  woodland.  The  days  of  wood  fires  are  not  ut 
terly  gone  ;  as  long  as  I  live,  they  never  will  be  gone. 
Coal  indeed  may  have  its  uses  in  the  furnace  which 
takes  oif  the  sharp  edge  of  winter  from  the  whole 
interior  of  the  house,  and  keeps  up  a  night  and  day 
struggle  with  Boreas  for  the  mastery.  Coal  may  be 
long  in  the  kitchens  of  winter ;  I  do  not  say  nay  to 
this :  but  I  do  say  that  a  country  home  without 
some  one  open  chimney,  around  which  in  time  of 
winter  twilight,  when  snows  are  beating  against  the 
panes,  the  family  may  gather,  and  watch  the  fire 
flashing  and  crackling  and  flaming  and  waving, 
until  the  girls  clap  their  hands,  and  the  boys  shout, 
in  a  kind  of  exultant  thankfulness,  is  not  worthy  the 
name. 

And  if  such  a  fiery  thanksgiving  is  to  crackle  out 


THE  SEARCH  AND  FINDING.  9 

its  praises — why  not  from  a  man's  own  ground  ? 
There  is  no  farmer  but  feels  a  commendable  pride 
in  feeding  his  own  grain,  in  luxuriating  upon  his  own 
poultry,  in  consuming  his  own  hay — why  not  burn 
wood  of  his  own  growing  ?  It  is  not  an  extravagant 
crop.  Thirty  years  of  rocky,  wild  land,  else  unser 
viceable,  will  mature  a  good  fire-crop  ;  and  if  there  be 
chestnut  growth,  will  ensure  sufficient  size  for  farm 
repairs  and  fencing  material.  A  half  acre  of  average 
growth  will  supply  at  least  one  roaring  winter's  fire, 
beside  the  chestnut  for  farm  purposes.  And  thus 
with  twenty  acres  of  wood,  cut  over  each  year,  half 
acre  by  half  acre,  I  have  forty  years  for  harvesting 
my  crop ;  and  then,  the  point  where  I  entered  upon 
my  wood  field  is  more  than  ready  for  the  axe  again. 
Indeed,  considering  that  thirty  years  are  ample  for  the 
growth  of  good-sized  fire  wood,  I  have  a  margin  of 
ten  years'  extra  groAvth,  which  may  go  to  pin  money ; 
or  may  be  credited  to  some  few  favorite  timber  trees 
that  stand  upon  the  edge  of  the  pasture,  and  pay 
rental  in  the  picture  they  give  of  patriarchal  grace, — 
to  say  nothing  of  an  annual  harvest  of  chestnuts. 

Woodland,  again,  gives  dignity  to  a  country  place ; 
it  shows  a  crop  that  wants  a  man's  age  to  ripen  it ;  a 
company  of  hoary  elders — conservatives,  if  you  will — 
to  preside  amid  the  lesser  harvests,  and  to  parry  the 
rage  of  tempests.  Mosses  plant  their  white  blight,  as 
1* 


10  MY  FARM. 

gray  hairs  come  to  a  man  ;  but  the  core  is  sound,  and 
the  life  sap  swift,  and  in  it  are  the  juices  of  a  thou 
sand  leaves. 

A  wood,  too,  for  a  contemplative  mind  is  always 
suggestive.  Its  aisles  swarm  with  memories ;  the 
sighing  of  the  boughs  in  the  wind  brings  a  tender 
murmur  from  the  farthest  days  of  childhood,  when 
leaves  rustled  all  the  long  summer  at  the  nurse's  win 
dow.  Bird-nesting  boyhood  comes  again  to  sit  astride 
the  limbs — to  hunt  for  slippery  elm,  or  the  fragrant 
leaves  of  young  wintergreen,  or  the  aromatic  roots  of 
sassafras. 

This  scarred  bole,  so  straight  and  true,  reminds 
of  still  larger  ones  in  the  forest  of  Fontainebleau  ;  the 
chestnuts  recall  the  broad-leaved  ones  of  the  Apen 
nines  ;  the  hemlocks  bring  to  memory  the  kindred 
sapin  of  the  Juras,  under  whose  shade  I  sat  upon  an 
August  day,  years  ago,  panting  with  the  heat,  and 
looking  off  upon  the  yellow  plains  which  stretch  be 
yond  the  old  French  town  of  Poligny,  and  upon  the 
shadows  of  clouds,  that  flitted  over  the  far  and 
"  golden  sided  "  Burgundy. 

Next,  the  coveted  place  was  to  have  its  quota  of 
running  water.  It  would  be  a  very  absurd  thing 
to  go  far  to  find  reasons  for  the  love  of  a  brook. 
There  are  practical  ones  of  which  every  former 
knows  the  force ;  and  of  which  every  farmer's  boy, 


THE  SEARCH  AND  FINDING.  \\ 

who  has  ever  driven  a  cow  to  water,  or  wet  a  line  in 
the  eddies,  could  be  exponent. 

And  in  the  romantic  aspect  of  the  matter,  I  be 
lieve  there  is  nothing  in  nature  which  so  enlaces  one's 
love  for  the  country,  and  binds  it  with  willing  fetters, 
as  the  silver  meshes  of  a  brook.  Not  for  its  beauty 
only,  but  for  its  changes  ;  it  is  the  warbler  ;  it  is  the 
silent  muser ;  it  is  the  loiterer ;  it  is  the  noisy 
brawler  ;  and  like  all  brawlers  beats  itself  into  angry 
foam  ;  and  turns  in  the  eddies  demurely  penitent, 
and  runs  away  to  sulk  under  the  bush.  A  brook,  too, 
piques  terribly  a  man's  audacity,  if  he  have  any  eye 
for  landscape  gardening.  It  seems  so  manageable, 
in  all  its  wildness.  Here  in  the  glen  a  bit  of  dam 
will  give  a  white  gush  of  waterfall,  and  a  pouring 
sluice  to  some  overshot  wheel;  and  the  wheel  shall 
have  its  connecting  shaft  and  whirl  of  labors.  Of 
course  there  shall  be  a  little  scape-way  for  the  trout  to 
pass  up  and  down  ;  a  rustic  bridge  shall  spring  across 
somewhere  below,  and  the  stream  shall  be  coaxed  into 
loitering  where  you  will — under  the  roots  of  a  beech 
that  leans  over  the  water — into  a  broad  pool  of  the 
pasture  close,  where  the  cattle  may  cool  themselves  in 
August.  In  short,  it  is  easy  to  see  how  a  brook  may 
be  held  in  leash,  and  made  to  play  the  wanton  foi  you, 
summer  after  summer.  I  do  not  forget  that  poor 
Shenstone  ruined  himself  by  his  coquetries  with  the 


12  MY  FARM. 

trees  and  "brooks  at  Leasowes.  I  commend  the  story 
of  the  bankrupt  poet  to  those  who  are  about  laying 
out  country  places. 

Meantime  our  eye  shall  run  where  the  brooks  are 
running — to  the  sea.  It  must  be  admitted  that  a  sea 
view  gives  the  final  and  the  kingly  grace  to  a  coun 
try  home.  A  lake  view  and  a  river  view  are  well  in 
their  way,  but  the  hills  hem  them  ;  the  great  reach 
which  is  a  type,  and  as  it  were,  a  vision  of  the  future, 
does  not  belong  to  them.  There  is  none  of  that  joy 
ous  strain  to  the  eye  in  looking  on  them  which  a  sea 
view  provokes.  The  ocean  seems  to  absorb  all  nar 
rowness,  and  tides  it  away,  and  dashes  it  into  yeasty 
multiple  of  its  own  illimitable  width.  A  man  may  be 
small  by  birth,  but  he  cannot  grow  smaller  with  the 
sea  always  in  his  eye. 

It  is  a  bond  with  other  worlds  and  people  :  the 
saiJ  you  watch  has  come  from  Biscay ;  yesterday  it 
was  white  for  the  eye  of  a  Biscayan  ;  your  sympathies 
touch  by  the  glitter  of  a  sail. 

The  raft  of  smoke  drifting  from  some  steamer  in 
the  offing  is  as  humanizing,  though  it  be  ten  miles 
away,  as  the  rattle  of  your  neigbor's  wagon  by  the 
door. 

You  live  near  a  highroad  to  take  off  the  edge 
from  loneliness  and  isolation ;  but  a  travelled  sea, 
where  all  day  long  white  specks  come  and  go,  is 


THE  SEARCH  AND  FINDING.  13 

the  highway  of  the  world  ;  and  though  you  do  not  see 
these  neighbors'  faces,  or  catch  their  words,  the 
drifted  vapor,  and  the  sheen  of  the  sails,  and  the 
streaming  pennants  yield  a  sense  of  nearness  and  com 
panionship  that  gives  rein  and  verge  to  a  man's  hu 
manity. 

Then,  physically, — what  reach  !  Heaven  and  earth 
touch  their  great  circles  in  your  eye  ;  the  touch  that 
bounds  human  vision  wherever  you  may  go.  No 
height  can  lift  you  to  a  grander  touch,  or  alter  one 
iota  its  magnificent  proportions.  With  a  land  hori 
zon,  it  may  be  an  occasional  hill  that  conceals  the 
outmost  bound, — a  temple  or  a  tree ;  it  is  various  and 
uncertain  ;  even  upon  the  prairie  a  harvest  of  flowers 
may  fringe  it  with  an  edge  that  the  autumn  fires  con 
sume,  or  which  a  trampling  herd  may  beat  down ; 
but  where  sea  touches  sky,  there,  forever,  is  the  line 
immutable,  which  runs  between  our  home  and  the 
spacious  heaven,  that  buoys,  and  bears  us.  And 
thence,  with  every  noontide,  the  sun  pours  a  fiery 
profusion  of  gold  up  to  your  feet ;  and  there,  every 
full  moon  paves  a  broad  path  with  silver. 

So,  with  each  of  the  features  I  have  claimed, 
come  kingly  pictures  ; — not  least  of  all  to  the  gentle 
slope  south  or  eastward,  which  should  catch  the 
first  beams  of  the  morning,  and  the  first  warmth  of 
every  recurring  spring. 


14  MY  FARM. 

In  a  mere  economic  point  of  view,  such  slope  is 
commended  in  every  northern  latitude  by  the  best 
of  agricultural  reasons.  In  all  temperate  zones  two 
Lours  of  morning  are  worth  three  of  the  afternoon. 
I  do  not  know  an  old  author  upon  husbandry  who 
does  not  affirm  my  choice,  with  respect  to  all  tem 
perate  regions.  If  this  be  true  of  European  countries, 
it  must  be  doubly  true  of  America,  where  the  most 
trying  winds  for  fruits,  or  for  frail  tempers,  drive 
from  the  northwest. 

And  with  the  slope,  as  with  the  wood  and  with 
the  sea,  come  visions ; — visions  of  sloping  shores  of 
bays,  into  whose  waters  the  land  dips  with  every 
recurring  tide ;  and  where,  as  the  gentlest  of  tides 
fall  (so  upon  the  Adriatic  coast),  an  empurpled  line 
of  fine  sea  mosses  lies  crimped  upon  white  sand,  and 
pearly  shells  glitter  in  the  sun.  Or, — of  lake  shores, 
gentle  as  Idyls  (so  of  Windermere),  with  grassy 
slopes  so  near  and  neighborly  to  the  water,  that  the 
mower,  as  he  clips  the  last  sentinels  in  green,  sweeps 
his  blade  with  a  bubbling  swirl  of  sound,  quite  into 
the  margin  of  the  lake. 

Southern  slopes,  again,  suggest  luscious  ripeness. 
The  first  figs  I  ever  gathered,  were  gathered  on  such 
a  slope  in  a  dreamy  atmosphere  of  Southern  France, 
with  the  blue  of  the  Mediterranean  in  reach  of  the 


THE  SEARCH  AND  FINDING.  15 

eye,  and  the  sweetest  roses  of  Provence  lending  a 
balmy  fragrance  to  the  air. 

Sheltered  slopes  recall  too,  always,  what  is  most 
captivating  in  rural  life.  You  never  see  them  or  look 
for  them  even,  in  Dutch-land — in  Poland,  never ;  in 
Prussia,  or  on  the  highways  of  travel  in  France, 
never.  And  no  rural  poems,  or  pictures  that  haunt 
the  memory,  were  ever  rhymed  or  sketched  in  those 
regions.  Theocritus  lived  where  lie  the  sweetest  of 
valleys ;  Tibullus  and  Horace  both  knew  the  purple 
shadows  that  lay  in  the  clefts  of  the  Latian  hills.  De- 
lille  chased  his  rural  phantoms  beyond  the  Burgundian 
mountains,  before  they  had  taken  their  best  form. 

But  in  the  English  Isle — by  Abergavenny,  by  Mer- 
thyr,  under  the  Tors  of  Derbyshire,  in  the  lea  of  the 
Dartmoor  hills, — abreast  of  Snowdon — what  sheltered 
greenness  and  bloom  !  What  nestling  homesteads  ! 

I  must  not  forget  to  give  a  sequence  to  my  story. 
I  had  entered  my  advertisement.  Was  it  possible 
that  any  one  in  the  possession  of  such  a  place  as  I 
had  roughly  indicated,  would  be  willing  to  sell  ? 

For  twenty-four  hours  I  was  in  a  state  of  doubt ; 
after  that  time,  I  may  say  the  doubt  was  removed. 
I  must  frankly  confess  that  I  was  astounded  to  find 
what  a  number  of  persons,  counting  not  by  tens,  but 
by  fifties,  and  even  hundreds,  were  anxious  to  dis- 


16  MY  FARM. 

pose  of  a  "  situation  in  the  country  "  which  fully 
corresponded  to  my  wishes  (as  advertised.) 

Were  the  people  mad,  that  they  showed  such 
eagerness  to  divest  themselves  of  charming  places  ? 
Or  were  my  fine  pictures  possibly  overdrawn  ?  And 
yet,  who  could  gainsay  them ;  are  not  trees,  trees — 
and  brooks,  brooks — and  the  sea,  always  itself? 

I  think  my  New  York  friend,  to  whom  I  had  or 
dered  all  replies  to  be  addressed,  may  have  handed 
me  a  peck  of  letters ; — blue  letters,  square  letters, 
triangular  letters,  pink  letters  (in  female  hand),  and 
soberly  brown  letters. 

It  was  a  mortification  to  me  to  reflect  that  so 
many  fine  places  should  be  thrown  upon  the  market 
at  the  first  hint  of  a  purchaser ;  "  places  most  con 
venient  ; "  places  on  a  "  lovely  shore ; "  places  by 
rivers ;  places  with  commanding  views ;  places  on 
prospective  railways  ;  places  innumerable. 

Not  a  few  of  the  propositions  contained  in  these 
letters  were,  at  first  sight,  plainly  inadmissible ;  as 
where  a  sanguine  gentleman  suggested  that  I  should 
make  a  slight  change  of  programme,  so  far  as  to  plant 
myself  on  the  shores  of  the  Great  Lakes,  or  in  a 
pretty  retiracy,  among  the  fine  forests  along  the  Erie 
railroad. 

Another,  "  in  case  I  found  nothing  to  rrit  else 
where,"  could  recommend  "  a  small  place  of  ten 


THE  SEARCH  AND  FINDING.  17 

acres,  in  a  thriving  country  town,  two  minutes'  walk 
from  the  post  office,  house  forty  by  thirty-five,  and  ten 
feet  between  joints,  stages  passing  the  door  three  times 
a  day,  large  apple  trees  in  the  yard  newly  grafted,  and 
the  good  will  of  a  small  grocery,  upon  the  corner,  to 
be  sold,  if  desired,  with  tfie  goods,  and  healthy." 

Inadmissible,  of  course ;  and  the  letter  passed  over 
into  the  hat  of  my  friend.  Another  letter,  from  a 
widow  lady,  invited  attention  to  the  admired  place 
of  her  late  husband :  he  had  "  an  unusual  taste  for 
country  life,  and  had  expended  large  sums  in  beauti 
fying  the  farm ;  marble  mantels  throughout  the 
house,  Gothic  porticos,  and  some  statuary  about  the 
grounds.  There  was  a  gardener's  cottage,  and  a  far 
mer's  house,  as  well  as  another  small  tenement  for  an 
under-gardener,  and  twenty  acres  of  land,  of  which 
six  in  shrubbery  and  lawns."  The  architecture  seemed 
to  me  rather  disproportionate  to  the  land ;  inadmis 
sible  upon  the  whole,  as  a  desirable  place  on  which  to 
test  the  economies  of  a  quiet  farm-life. 

I  can  conceive  of  nothing  so  shocking  to  a  hearty 
lover  of  the  country,  as  to  live  in  the  glare  of  another 
man's  architectural  taste.  In  the  city  or  the  town 
there  are  conventional  laws  of  building,  established 
by  custom,  and  by  limitations  of  space,  to  which  all 
must  in  a  large  measure  conform  ;  but  with  the  width 
of  broad  acres  around  one,  I  should  chafe  as  much  at 


18  MY  FARM. 

living  in  the  pretentious  house  of  another  man's  or* 
dering  and  building,  as  I  should  chafe  at  living  in 
another  man's  coat.  Country  architecture,  whose 
simplicity  or  rudeness  is  so  far  subordinated  to  the 
main  features  of  the  landscape  as  not  to  provoke 
special  mention,  may  be  of  any  man's  building  ;  but 
wherever  the  house  becomes  the  salient  feature  of  the 
place,  and  challenges  criticism  by  an  engrossing  im 
portance  as  compared  with  its  rural  surroundings, 
then  it  must  be  in  agreement  with  the  tastes  and 
character  of  the  occupant,  or  it  is  a  pretentious  false 
hood. 

Perhaps  I  ought  to  beg  the  reader's  pardon  for 
this  interpolation  here,  of  a  law  of  adjustment  in  re 
spect  to  the  country  and  country  houses,  which  would 
have  more  perfect  place  in  what  I  may  have  to  say 
upon  the  general  subject  of  rural  architecture. 

At  present  I  return  to  my  stock  of  pleasant  advi 
sory  letters  : 

A  tasteful  gentleman,  of  active  habits,  calls  my 
attention  to  a  park  of  which  he  is  the  projector,  and 
within  which  several  desirable  places,  with  admirable 
views,  remain  unsold ;  while  land  in  the  neighborhood 
might  be  secured  at  a  reasonable  valuation,  for  such 
farm  experiments  as  I  might  be  tempted  to  enter 
upon.  Attention  is  particularly  called  to  the  social 
advantages  of  'such  a  neighborhood,  where  none  but 


THE  SEARCH  AND  FINDING.  19 

gentlemen  of  character  would  be  permitted  to  pur 
chase,  and  where  the  refinements  of  city  intercourse 
would  be,  &c.,  &c. 

Now  it  so  happens  that  I  never  heard  of  a  park  upon 
this  mutual  method,  where  there  did  not  arise  within 
a  few  years  a  smart  quarrel  between  two  or  more  of 
the  refined  occupants.  The  cows,  or  the  goats,  or  the 
adjustment  of  water  privileges,  are  sure  to  form  the 
bases  of  noisy  differences,  in  the  management  of 
which,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  the  amenities  of  the  town 
are  not  greatly  superior  to  the  amenities  of  the  coun 
try.  Aside  from  this  danger,  I  have  not  much  faith 
in  the  marketable  coherence  of  those  rural  tastes 
which  would  belong  to  a  promiscuous  circle  of  buy 
ers.  A  community  of  cooks,  or  of  coal-heavers,  I  can 
conceive  of,  but  a  community  of  ruralists,  or  of  ama 
teur  farmers,  quite  passes  my  comprehension.  I  say 
amateur  farming,  for  I  know  of  no  farming  which  is 
so  amatory  in  the  beginning,  and  so  damnatory  in  the 
end,  as  that  which  delights  in  a  suburban  house,  and 
in  a  sufficient  quantity  of  ground  a  few  miles  away, 
where,  under  the  wary  eye  of  some  sagacious  Dutch 
man  or  Irishman,  the  cows  are  to  be  fed,  the  weeds 
pulled,  the  chickens  plucked,  and  the  new  industry 
and  profit  developed  generally.  It  is  very  much  as 
if  a  man  were  to  enter  upon  the  business  of  whaling 
by  taking  rooms  at  the  Pequod  House,  and  negotiate 


20  MY  FARM. 

ing  with  some  enterprising  skipper  to  tow  a  few  tame 
whales  into  harbor,  to  be  slashed  up,  and  tried,  and 
put  into  clean  casks,  on  some  mild  afternoon  of 
June. 

In  the  latter  case,  we  should  probably  have  the 
oil  and  the  bone ;  and  in  the  other,  we  should  per 
haps  have  the  butter  and  the  eggs  ;  in  both,  we  cer 
tainly  should  have  the  bills  to  pay. 

If  a  man  would  enter  upon  country  life  in  earnest, 
and  test  thoroughly  its  aptitudes  and  royalties,  he 
must  not  toy  with  it  at  a  town  distance ;  he  must 
brush  the  dews  away  with  his  own  feet.  He  must 
bring  the  front  of  his  head  to  the  business,  and  not 
the  back  side  of  it ;  or,  as  Cato  put  the  same  matter 
to  the  Romans,  near  two  thousand  years  ago,  Frons 
occipitio  prior  est. 

But  while  I  was  thus  compelled  to  discard  certain 
propositions  at  their  first  suggestion,  there  were 
others  which  wore  such  a  roseate  hue  as  challenged 
scrutiny  and  compelled  a  visit.  Thus,  a  very  straight 
forward  and  business-like  letter  from  a  Wall-street 
agent  informed  me  that  his  esteemed  client,  Mr.  Van 
Heine,  "  was  willing  to  dispose  of  a  considerable  coun 
try  property  thirty  miles  from  the  city,  in  a  favorable 
location.  The  house  was  not  large  or  expensive,  pos 
sibly  not  extensive  enough ;  there  was  old  wood  upon 
the  place,  the  surface  charmingly  diversified,  and  in 


THE  SEARCH  AND  FINDING.  21 

addition  to  other  requisites,  it  possessed  a  mill  site, 
mill,  and  small  body  of  water,  which,  in  the  hands  of 
taste,  he  had  no  doubt,"  <fcc.,  &c. 

The  agent  regretted  that  he  could  give  me  no  de 
finite  information  in  regard  to  the  exact  size  of  tha 
property,  or  terms  of  sale,  but  begged  me  to  pay  a 
visit  to  the  place  before  deciding. 

The  description,  though  not  particularly  definite, 
was  yet  sufficiently  piquant  and  suggestive  to  induce 
me  to  comply  with  the  hint  of  the  agent.  I  liked  the 
man's  nomenclature — r"  a  considerable  country  proper 
ty  ; "  it  conveyed  an  impression  of  dignified  quiet  and 
retirement.  The  dwelling  was  probably  a  modest 
farmhouse,  grown  mossy  under  the  shade  of  the  old 
wood  ;  possibly  some  Dutch  affair  of  stone,  with  Van 
Heine  gables,  which  it  would  be  hardly  decorous  to 
pull  down.  I  might  add  a  little  to  its  size,  and  so 
make  it  habitable  ;  or,  if  well  placed,  it  might — who 
knew — be  turned  into  a  cottage  for  the  miller.  There 
remained,  after  all  this  agreeable  coloring,  the  small 
body  of  water  and  the  diversified  surface,  which  were 
enough  in  themselves  to  form  the  outlines  of  a  very 
captivating  picture. 

I  determined  to  pay  Mr.  Van  Heine  a  visit.  Ob 
taining  all  needed  information  from  his  agent,  in  re 
gard  to  the  locality  and  its  approaches  from  the  city, 
I  set  off  upon  a  charming  morning  of  June  by  one 


22  MY  FARM. 

of  the  northern  railways,  and  after  an  hour's  ride, 
was  put  down  at  a  station  some  five  miles  distant 
from  the  property.  I  drove  across  the  country  at  a 
leisurely  pace,  stopping  here  and  there  upon  a  hilltop 
to  admire  the  far-off  views,  and  speculating  upon 
possible  improvements  that  might  be  made  in  the 
badly  conditioned  road.  The  neighborhood  was  not 
populous  :  indeed,  it  was  only  after  having  measured, 
as  I  fancied,  the  fifth  mile,  that  I  for  the  first  time 
saw  a  party  from  whom  I  might  ask  special  direc 
tions.  I  may  describe  this  party  as  a  tall  man  in  red 
beard  and  red  fur  cap,  with  a  black-stemmed  porce 
lain  pipe  in  his  mouth,  and  pantaloons  thrust  into 
stout  cowhide  boots.  He  was  striding  forward  in  the 
same  direction  with  me,  and  at  nearly  an  equal  pace. 
"  Did  he  possibly  know  of  a  Mr.  Van  Heine  in 
this  region  ? " 

«  Yah—yah,"  and  the  man,  who  may  have  been  an 
emigrant  of  only  four  or  five  years  of  American  na 
tionality,  pointed  toward  himself  with  a  pleased  and 
grim  complacency. 

"  This  was  Mr.  Van  Heine,  then,  who  has  a  coun- 
tiy  property  to  sell  ?  " 

«  Yah— yah,"  and  his  smile  has  now  grown  eager 
and  familiar. 

His  place  is  a  little  farther ;  and  I  ask  him  to  a 
seat  beside  me. 


THE  SEARCH  AND  FINDING.  2fl 

"  It  is  a  farm  he  has  to  sell  ?  " 

"  Yah— yah,  farm." 

I  ask  if  the  view  is  good. 

"  Yah— view— yah." 

I  venture  a  question  in  regard  to  the  mill. 

"  Yah— mill— yah." 

"  Grist  mill  ?  "  I  ask. 

"  Yah— mill." 

"  For  sawing  ?  "  I  add,  thinking  possibly  he  might 
misunderstand  me. 

"  Yah — sawing." 

I  venture  to  ask  after  his  crops. 

"  Crops— yah." 

The  conversation  was  not  satisfactory :  we  were 
driving  along  a  dusty  highway,  and  had  entered  upon 
a  sombre  valley,  where  there  was  no  sign  of  cultiva 
tion,  and  where  the  only  dwelling  to  be  seen,  was 
one  of  those  excessively  new  houses  of  matched 
boards,  perched  immediately  upon  the  side  of  the 
high-road,  and  with  its  pert  and  rectangular  "join 
ery  "  offending  every  rural  sentiment  that  might  have 
grown  out  of  the  blithe  atmosphere  and  the  morning 
drive. 

"  Dish  is  de  place,"  said  my  friend  of  the  red 
beard  and  porcelain  pipe  ;  and  I  could  not  doubt  it  • 
there  was  a  poetic  agreement  between  man  and 
house  ;  but  the  mill  remained — where  was  the  mill  ? 


24  MY  FARM. 

Van  Heine  was  only  too  happy :  across  the  way- 
only  at  a  distance  of  a  few  rods,  not  removed  from 
the  dust  of  the  high-road,  was  the  mill,  and  the  "  body 
of  water."  The  new  scars  in  the  hillsides,  from 
which  the  earth  had  been  taken  to  dam  the  brook, 
were  odiously  apparent :  but  the  investment  had 
clearly  not  proven  a  profitable  one  :  the  capacity  of 
the  brook  had  been  measured  at  its  winter  stage ; 
even  now,  the  millpond  at  its  upper  end  showed  a 
broad,  slimy  flat,  which  was  alive  with  frogs  and 
mudpouts.  A  few  scattered  clumps  o*f  dead  and 
seared  alders  broke  the  level,  and  a  dozen  or  more  of 
tall  and  limbless  trees  that  had  been  drowned  by  the 
new  lake,  rose  stragglingly  from  the  water — making, 
with  the  dead  bushes,  and  the  loneliness  of  the  place, 
a  skeleton  and  ghostly  assemblage. 

Mr.  Yan  Heine  had  newly  filled  his  pipe,  and  was 
puffing  amiably,  as  I  stood  looking  at  the  property, 
and  at  the  sandy  hills  which  rolled  up  from  the  fur 
ther  side  of  the  pond,  tufted  with  here  and  there  a 
spreading  juniper.  The  whole  aspect  of  the  property 
was  so  curiously  and  amazingly  repugnant  to  all  the 
rural  fancies  I  had  ever  entertained,  whether  aesthetic, 
or  purely  agricultural,  that  I  was  excessively  interest 
ed.  My  red-bearded  entertainer  clearly  saw  as  much, 
and  with  violent  and  persuasive  puffs  at  his  porcelain 
pipe,  and  occasional  iterative  "  dams "  in  his  talk, 


THE  SEARCH  AND  FINDING.  25 

(which  had  very  likely  sprung  of  unpleasant  familiar 
ity  with  the  dan?,  actual)  he  became  explosively  de 
monstrative  and  earnest. 

I  hinted  at  the  shortness  of  the  water ;  there  was 
110  denial  on  his  part ;  on  the  contrary,  frank  avowal. 

"  Yah — dam — short,'*  said  he ;  "  dat  ish — enough 
for  der  farm — yah  ;  but  for  der  mill — dam — nichts  " 
(puff). 

I  spoke  in  an  apologetic  way  of  the  advertisement, 
and  of  certain  requisites  insisted  upon ;  he  had  per 
haps  seen  it  ? 

"  Advertisement — yah  (puif) — yah." 

I  hinted  at  the  slope. 

"  Yah— der  slope." 

"  The  slope  to  the  south  ?  " 

"  Oh  yah— south  (puff)— yah." 

I  explained  by  a  little  interpolation  of  his  own 
tongue. 

"  Dam — yah — dis  ish  it ;  der  is  de  pond  ;  dish  is 
south  ;  dat  ish  der  slope — to  der  pond — dam — yah." 

"  And  the  lands  opposite  ?  " 

"  Oh,  dat  ish  not  mine ;  der  mill,  der  house,  der 
pond,  der  land,  vat  you  call  der  slope — dis  ish  mine." 

I  suggested  the  mention  of  a  water  view  in  the 
advertisement. 

"  View,"  said  my  red-bearded  friend  ;  "  val;  you 
caH  view  ?  " 
2 


26  MY  FARM. 

I  explained  as  I  could,  teutonically. 

"  Dam  !  der  vater  view !  (with  emphasis)  ;  dis  ish 
it ;  der  pond,  ish  it  no  vater  ? — hem  ! — dam  (puff)." 

Even  now  I  look  back  with  a  good  deal  of  self- 
applause  upon  my  success  in  extricating  myself  from 
the  merciless  and  magnetic  earnestness  of  the  red- 
bearded  Mr.  Van  Heine  ;  I  think  o/  my  escape  from 
the  dusty  high-road,  the  angular  joinery  of  the  house, 
the  bloated  hills,  blotched  with  junipers,  the  strag 
gling  trunks  of  the  drowned  trees,  and  the  imper 
turbable  insistance  of  the  German,  with  his  expletive 
dam  and  his  black-stemmed  porcelain  pipe,  as  I  think 
of  escapes  from  some  threatening  pestilence. 

Another  country  place  was  brought  to  my  atten 
tion,  under  circumstances  that  forbade  any  doubt  of 
its  positive  attractions.  There  was  wood  in  abun 
dance,  dotted  here  and  there  with  a  profuse  and  care 
less  luxuriance ;  there  were  rounded  banks  of  hills, 
and  meadows  through  which  an  ample  stream  came 
flowing  with  a  queenly  sweep,  and  with  a  sheen  that 
caught  every  noontide,  and  repeated  it  in  a  glorious 
blazon  of  gold.  It  skirted  the  hills,  it  skirted  the 
wood,  and  came  with  a  gushing  fulness  upon  the 
very  margin  of  the  quiet  little  houseyard  that  com- 
passed  the  dwelling.  And  from  the  door,  underneath 
cherry  trees,  one  could  catch  glimpses  of  the  great 


THE  SEARCH  AND  FINDING.  27 

Btretch  of  the  Hudson  into  which  the  brook  passed  ; 
and  the  farther  shores  were  so  distant,  tlu  t  the  Hud 
son  looked  like  a  bay  of  the  sea.  A  gaunt  American 
who  was  in  charge  of  the  premises  did  the  honors  of 
the  place,  and  hi  the  intervals  of  expressing  the  juices 
from  a  huge  quid  of  tobacco  that  lay  in  his  cheek,  he 
enlarged  upon  the  qualities  of  the  soil. 

To  him  the  view  or  situation  was  nothing,  but 
the  capacity  for  corn  or  rye  was  the  main  "  p'int." 

"  Ef  yer  want  a  farm,  Mister,  yer  want  sile  ;  now 
this  'ere  (turning  up  a  turf  with  a  back  thrust  of  his 
heel)  is  what  I  call  sile  ;  none  o'  yer  dum  leachy  stuff ; 
you  put  manure  into  this  'ere,  and  it  stays  '  put.'  " 

"  Grows  good  crops,  then,"  I  threw  in,  by  way 
of  interlude. 

"  I  guess  it  dooz,  Mister.  Corn,  potatoes,  garden 
sass, — why,  only  look  at  this  'ere  turf;  see  them  clo 
vers,  and  this  blue  grass.  Ef  you  was  a  farmer — 
doan't  know  but  you  be,  but  doan't  look  jist  like  one 
— you'd  know  that  'tain't  every  farm  can  scare  up 
such  a  turf  as  that." 

"  Very  true,"  I  remark ;  while  my  lank  friend  ad- 
justs  his  quid  for  a  new  bit  of  comment. 

"  Now  here's  Simmons  on  the  hill — smart  man 
enough,  but  doan't  know  nothing  'bout  farmin'— 
them  hills  he's  bought  doan't  bear  nothin'  but  penny, 
rial ;  ten  acres  on't  wouldn't  keep  a  good  cosset 


28  MY  FARM. 

sheep."  And  my  friend  expectorates  with  a  good 
deal  of  emphasis. 

I  suggested  that  many  came  into  the  country  for 
good  views  and  a  fine  situation. 

"  I  know  it,  sir,"  said  my  lank  friend ;  "  this's  a 
free  country,  and  a  man  can  do  as  he  likes,  leastwise 
we  used  to  think  so  ;  but  as  for  me,  give  me  a  good 
black  sile  'bout  seven  inches  thick,  and  good  turf  top 
on't,  and  a  good  smart  team,  and  I  take  out  my 
views,  along  in  the  fall  o'  the  year,  in  the  corn  crib. 
Them's  my  sentiments." 

I  think  I  won  upon  my  tall  friend  by  expressing 
my  approval  of  so  sound  opinions  ;  and  in  the  course 
of  talk,  we  found  ourselves  again  upon  the  dainty 
lawn  by  the  doorstep,  near  to  which  the  brook 
surged  along,  brimful  and  deep,  to  the  river.  Over- 
deep,  indeed,  it  seemed,  for  so  near  neighborhood  to 
the  house.  An  expression  of  mine  to  this  effect  was 
amply  confirmed  by  the  tall  farmer.  Only  a  year  or 
so  gone,  a  little  child  had  tumbled  in,  and  was 
"  drownded." 

And  this  was  perhaps  the  reason  why  the  family 
left  so  attractive  a  place,  I  suggested. 

"  Oh  Lord,  no,  sir ;  'twas  a  pesky  little  thing,  be 
longed  down  to  the  landin'.  Fever-'nager  aVnat  driv 
the  folks  off,  in  my  opinion." 

"  Ah,  they  do  have  the  fever  about  here,  then?" 


THE  SEARCH  AND  FINDING.  29 

"  Gosh — Smithers  here — p'raps  you  doan't  know 
Smithers — no  ;  waal,  he's  got  it,  got  it  bad,  that's  so  ; 
and  what's  wus,  his  chil'en  s'got  it,  and  his  wife  s'had 
it ;  and  my  wife  here,  a  spell  ago,  what  does  she  do, 
but  up  and  takes  it,  s'bad  s'enny  on  'em ;  'ts  a  duin 
curi's  keind  o'  thing.  You  doan't  know  nothin'  when 
'ts  eomin' ;  and  you  doan't  know  no  more  when  'ts 
goin' ;  and  arter  'ts  dun,  'tain't  no  small  shakes  of  a 
thing  ;  a  feller  keeps  keinder  ailin'." 

Upon  a  sudden  the  place  took  on  a  new  aspect 
for  me ;  its  cool  shade  seemed  the  murky  parent  of 
miasma ;  the  wind  sighed  through  the  leaves  with  a 
sickly  sound,  and  the  brook,  that  gave  out  a  little 
while  before  a  roistering  cheerfulness  in  its  dash, 
now  surged  along  with  only  a  quick  succession  of 
sullen  plashes. 

I  must  recur  to  one  other  disappointment  in  re 
spect  of  a  country  place,  which  possessed  every  one 
of  the  features  I  had  desired  in  unmistakable,  type ; 
and  yet  all  these  so  curiously  distraught  that  they 
possessed  no  harmony  or  charm.  I  ought  perhaps  to 
except  the  sea  view,  which  was  wide  to  a  fault,  and 
so  near  that  on  turbulent  days  of  storm,  it  must  have 
created  the  illusion  that  you  were  fairly  afloat. 

A  sight  of  the  sea,  to  temper  a  fair  landscape,  and 
lend  it  ravishing  reach  to  a  far-off  line  of  glistening 


30  MY  FARM. 


horizon,  is  A  very  different  thing  from  that  bold, 
broadside,  every-day  nearness,  which  outroars  all  the 
pleasant  land  sounds,  making  your  country  quietude 
a  mere  fiction,  and  the  broad  presence  of  ocean  the 
engrossing  reality.  So  it  was  with  the  place  of  which 
I  speak;  beside  this,  the  slope  was  slight  and 
gradual— only  one  billowy  lift — as  if  the  land  had 
some  time  caught  the  undulations  of  the  sea  after 
some  heavy  ground  swell,  and  kept  the  uplift  after 
the  sea  had  settled  to  its  fair-weather  proportions. 
The  brook  was  of  an  unnoticeable  flow,  that  idled 
from  a  neighbor's  grounds,  and  the  wood,  such  as  it 
was,  only  a  spur  of  silver  poplars  that  had  stolen 
through  from  the  same  neighbor's  territory,  and  had 
shot  up  into  a  white  and  tangled  wilderness. 

The  occupant  and  owner  of  the  place— of  may  be 
seventy  acres — was  one  of  those  wiry,  energetic,  rest 
less  young  men  of  New  England  stock,  thrifty, 
shrewd,  spurning  all  courtesies,  bound  to  push  on  in 
life  ;  a  type  of  that  nervous  unrest  by  which  God  has 
peopled  the  West  and  California.  Never  gaining, 
but  always  despising,  the  calm  that  comes  of  satisfied 
endeavor,  whether  in  the  establishment  of  a  home,  or 
the  accumulation  of  money,  these  fast  ones  are  very 
confident  in  their  ability  withal,  and  in  their  judg 
ment  ;  making  light  of  difficulties,  full  of  contempt 
for  all  knowledge  which  has  not  shown  practical  and 


THE  SEARCH  AND  FINDING.  31 

palpable  conquests.  The  owner  had  planted  his  farm 
to  vegetables — not  an  acre  of  it  but  bristled  with 
some  marketable  crop  ;  nearness  to  the  city  had  war 
ranted  it,  and  "  there  was  money  in  the  business." 
To  talk  with  such  a  man  about  comparative  views,  or 
situations,  would  have  been  to  talk  French  with  him. 
An  unknown  advertiser  had  demanded  the  very  fea 
tures  embraced  in  his  farm;  there  they  were — sea 
enough,  brook,  wood,  and  slope.  If  I  wished  them 
enough  to  pay  his  price,  I  could  have  them.  He  felt 
quite  sure  that  I  should  find  nothing  that  came  nearer 
the  mark,  and  he  argued  the  matter  with  a  strenuous, 
earnest  vehemence,  that  fairly  enchained  my  atten 
tion  ;  and  while  my  admiring  aspect  seemed  to  yield 
assent  to  every  presentation  he  made  of  the  subject, 
and  while,  as  in  the  case  of  the  red-bearded  German, 
there  was  a  sort  of  magnetism  that  bound  me  to  outer 
acquiescence,  at  the  same  time  all  my  inner  feeling 
was  kindled  into  open  revolt  against  the  man's  pre 
sumption,  and  his  turnips,  and  his  lines  of  cabbages, 
and  his  poplars,  and  near  breadth  of  sea. 

He  did  not  sell  to  me  ;  but  I  have  no  doubt  that 
he  sold  ;  I  have  no  doubt  that  he  made  money  by  his 
turnips,  and  more  money  by  the  sale  of  his  land  ;  and 
it  would  not  surprise  me  to  see  him  some  day,  if  I  go 
in  that  direction,  speaker  of  the  house  of  representa 
tives  in  the  State  of  Iowa,  or  Minnesota.  There  are 


32  MY  FARM. 

men  who  carry  in  their  presuming,  restless  energy  the 
brand  of  success — not  always  an  enviable  one,  still 
less  frequently  a  moral  one,  but  always  palpable  and 
noisy.  Such  a  man  makes  capital  fight  with  dangei 
of  all  sorts  ;  he  knows  no  yielding  to  fatigues — to  any 
natural  obstacles,  or  to  conscience.  It  is  hard  to  con 
ceive  of  him  as  dying,  without  a  sharp  and  nervous 
protest,  wThich  seems  conclusive  to  his  own  judgment, 
against  the  absurd  dispensations  of  Providence.  Who 
does  not  see  faces  every  day,  whose  eager,  impas 
sioned  unrest  is  utterly  irreconcilable  with  the  calm 
long  sleep  we  must  all  fall  to  at  last  ? 

But  this  story  of  unsuccessful  experiences  grows 
wearisome  to  me,  and,  I  doubt  not,  to  the  reader.  One 
after  another  the  hopes  I  had  built  upon  my  hatful 
of  responses,  failed  me.  June  was  bursting  every  day 
into  fuller  and  more  tempting  leafiness.  The  stifling 
corridors  of  city  hotels,  the  mouldy  smell  of  country 
taverns,  the  dependence  upon  testy  Jehus,  who  plun 
dered  and  piloted  me  through  all  manner  of  out-of- 
the-way  places,  became  fatiguing  beyond  measure. 

And  it  was  precisely  at  this  stage  of  my  inquiry, 
that  I  happened  accidentally  to  be  passing  a  day  at 
the  Tontine  inn,  of  the  charming  city  of  N — h — .  (I 
use  initials  only,  in  way  of  respectful  courtesy  for  the 
nome  of  my  adoption.)  The  old  drowsy  quietude  of 


THE  SEARCH  AND  FINDING.  33 

the  place  which  I  had  known  in  other  days,  still  lin 
gered  upon  the  broad  green,  while  the  mimic  din  of 
trade  rattled  down  the  tidy  streets,  or  gave  tongue 
in  the  shrill  whistle  of  an  engine.  The  college  still 
seemed  dreaming  out  its  classic  beatitudes,  and  the 
staring  rectangularity  of  its  enclosures  and  build 
ings  and  paths  seemed  to  me  only  a  proper  expres 
sion  of  its  old  geometric  and  educational  traditions. 

Most  people  know  this  town  of  which  I  speak, 
only  as  a  scudding  whirl  of  white  houses,  succeeded 
by  a  foul  sluiceway,  that  runs  along  the  reeking  backs 
of  shops,  and  ends  presently  in  gloom.  A  stranger 
might  consider  it  the  darkness  of  a  tunnel,  if  he  did 
not  perceive  that  the  railway  train  had  stopped ;  and 
presently  catch  faint  images  of  a  sooty  stairway,  be 
grimed  with  smoke— up  and  down  which  dim  figures 
pass  to  and  fro,  and  from  the  foot  of  which,  and  the 
side  of  which,  and  all  around  which,  a  score  of  belch 
ing  voices  break  out  in  a  passionate  chorus  of  shouts ; 
as  the  eye  gains  upon  the  sootiness  and  gloom,  it 
makes  out  the  wispy,  wavy  lines  of  a  few  whips  mov 
ing  back  and  forth  amid  the  uproar  of  voices ;  it 
lights  presently  upon  the  star  of  a  policeman,  who 
seems  altogether  in  his  element  in  the  midst  of  the 
hurly-burly.  Becloaked  and  shawled  figures  enter 
and  pass  through  the  carriages ;  they  may  be  black,  or 
white,  or  gray,  or  kinsfolk— you  see  nothing  but  be- 
2* 


34  MY  FARM. 

cloaked  figures  passing  through ;   portmanteaus  fall 
with   a  slump,  and  huge  dressing  cases  fall  with  a 
slam,  upon  what  seems,  by  the  ear,  to  be  pavement ; 
luggage  trucks  keep  up  an  uneasy  rattle  ;  brakemen 
Borne  where  in  still  lower  depths  strike  dinning  blows 
upon  the  wheels,  to  test  their  soundness ;  newsboys, 
moving  about  the  murky  shades  like  piebald  imps, 
iend  a  shrill  treble  to  the  uproar ;  the  policeman's 
star  twinkles  somewhere  in  the  foreground ;   upon 
the  begrimed  stairway,  figures  flit  mysteriously  up 
and  down  ;  there  is  the  shriek  of  a  steam  whistle 
somewhere  in  the  front ;  a  shock  to  the  train  ;  a  new 
deluge  of  smoke  rolls  back  and  around  newsboys,  po 
lice,  cabmen,  stairway,  and  all ;  there  is  a  crazy  shout 
of  some  official,  a  jerk,  a  dash — figures  still  flitting  up 
and  down  the  sooty  stairway — and  so,  a  progress  into 
day  (which  seemed  never  more  welcome).     Again 
the  backs  of  shops,  of  houses,  heaps  of  debris,  as  if 
all  the  shop  people  and  all  the  dwellers  in  all  the 
houses  were  fed  only  on  lobsters  and  other  shellfish  ;  a 
widening  of  the  sluice,  a  gradual  recovery  of  position 
to  the  surface  of  the  ground — in  time  to  see  a  few  tall 
chimneys,  a  great  hulk  of  rock,  with  something  glis 
tening  on  its  summit,  a  turbid  river  bordered  with 
sedges,  a  clump  of  coquettish  pine  trees — and  the 
conductor  tells  you  all  this  is  the  beautiful  city  of 
N— h— . 


THE  SEARCH  AND  FINDING.  35 

The  natural  impression  of  a  stranger  would  be 
that  the  city  was  situated  upon  a  considerable  emi 
nence,  which  had  required  deep  boring  for  the  proper 
adjustment  of  levels.  The  impression  would  be  an 
unjust  one  ;  in  all  that  dreary  sink  of  a  station,  there 
is  no  height  involved  except  the  height  of  corporate 
niggardliness.*  The  town  is  as  level  as  Runnimede. 

A  friend  called  upon  me  shortly  after  my  arrival, 
and  learning  the  errand  upon  which  I  had  been  scour 
ing  no  inconsiderable  tract  of  country,  proposed  to 
me  to  linger  a  day  more,  and  take  a  drive  about  the 
suburbs.  I  willingly  complied  with  his  invitation  ; 
though  I  must  confess  that  my  idea  of  the  suburbs, 
colored  as  it  was  by  old  recollections  of  college  walks 
over  dead  stretches  of  level,  in  order  to  find  some 
quiet  copse,  where  I  might  bandy  screams  with  a 
bluejay,  in  rehearsal  of  some  college  theme — all  this, 
I  say,  moderated  my  expectations. 

It  seems  but  yesterday  that  I  drove  from  among 
the  tasteful  houses  of  the  town,  which  since  my  boy 

*  The  mere  fact  that  the  roadbed  is  beneath  the  general  level,  is 
a  source  of  great  convenience,  but  affords  no  reason  for  converting 
the  station  into  a  Peking  cellar.  The  purchase  of  certain  adjoining 
premises,  and  the  transfer  to  them  of  offices  and  refreshment  rooms, 
and  the  glazing  of  the  roof,  would  enable  the  company  to  pour  down 
a  flood  of  light  upon  the  dreary  depot,  and  give  it  a  height  and 
breadth  and  airiness,  which  so  rich  a  corporation  fairly  owes  to  the 
comfort  of  the  public,  as  well  as  the  reputation  of  the  city. 


36  MY  FARM. 

time  had  crept  far  out  upon  the  margin  of  the  plain, 
It  seems  to  me  that  I  can  recall  the  note  of  an  oriole, 
that  sang  gushingly  from  the  limbs  of  an  overreach 
ing  elm  as  we  passed.  I  know  I  remember  the  stately 
broad  road  we  took,  and  its  smooth,  firm  macadam. 
I  have  a  fancy  that  I  compared  it  in  my  own  mind, 
and  not  unfavorably,  with  the  metal  of  a  road,  which 
I  had  driven  over  only  two  months  before  in  the  en 
virons  of  Liverpool.  I  remember  a  somewhat  stately 
country  house  that  we  passed,  whose  architecture 
dissolved  any  illusions  I  might  have  been  under,  in 
regard  to  my  whereabouts.  I  remember  turning 
slightly,  perhaps  to  the  right,  and  threading  the  ways 
of  a  neat  little  manufacturing  village, — catching 
views  of  waterfalls,  of  tall  chimneys,  of  open  pasture 
grounds ;  and  remember  bridges,  and  other  bridges, 
and  how  the  village  straggled  on  with  its  neat  white 
palings,  and  whiter  houses,  with  honeysuckles  at  the 
doors  ;  and  how  we  skirted  a  pond,  where  the  pads 
of  lilies  lay  all  idly  afloat ;  and  how  a  great  hulk  of 
rock  loomed  up  suddenly  near  a  thousand  feet,  with 
dwarfed  cedars  and  oaks  tufting  its  crevices — tufting 
its  top,  and  how  we  drove  almost  beneath  it,  so  that 
I  seemed  to  be  in  Meyringen  again,  and  to  hear  the 
dash  of  the  foaming  Reichenbach ;  and  how  we  as 
cended  again,  drifting  through  another  limb  of  the 
village,  where  the  little  churches  stood;  and  how  we 


THE  SEARCH  AND  FINDING.  37 

sped  on  past  neat  white  houses, — rising  gently, — skirt 
ed  by  hedgerows  of  tangled  cedars,  and  presently 
stopped  before  a  grayish-white  farmhouse,  where  the 
air  was  all  aflow  with  the  perfume  of  great  purple 
spikes  of  lilacs.  And  thence,  though  we  had  risen  so 
little  I  had  scarce  noticed  a  hill,  we  saw  all  the  spires 
of  the  city  we  had  left,  two  miles  away  as  a  bird 
flies,  and  they  seemed  to  stand  cushioned  on  a  broad 
bower  of  leaves  ;  and  to  the  right  of  them,  where 
they  straggled  and  faded,  there  came  to  the  eye  a 
white  burst  of  water  which  was  an  arm  of  the  sea ; 
beyond  the  harbor  and  town  was  a  purple  hazy 
range  of  hills, — in  the  foreground  a  little  declivity, 
and  then  a  wide  plateau  of  level  land,  green  and 
lusty,  with  all  the  wealth  of  June  sunshine.  I  had 
excuse  to  be  fastidious  in  the  matter  of  landscape, 
for  within  three  months  I  had  driven  on  Richmond 
hill,  and  had  luxuriated  in  the  valley  scene  from  the 
cote  of  St.  Cloud.  But  neither  one  or  the  other  for 
bade  my  open  and  outspoken  admiration  of  the  view 
before  me. 

I  have  a  recollection  of  making  my  way  through 
the  hedging  lilacs,  and  ringing  with  nervous  haste  at 
the  door  bell ;  and  as  I  turned,  the  view  from  the  step 
seemed  to  me  even  wider  and  more  enchanting  than 
from  the  carriage.  I  have  a  fancy  that  a  middle-aged 
man,  with  iron-gray  whiskers,  answered  my  summons 


38  MY  FARM. 

hi  his  shirt  sleeves,  and  proposed  joining  me  directly 
under  some  trees  which  stood  a  little  way  to  the 
north.  I  recollect  dimly  a  little  country  coquetry 
of  his,  about  unwillingness  to  sell,  or  to  name  a  price ; 
and  yet  how  he  kindly  pointed  out  to  me  the  farm 
lands,  which  lay  below  upon  the  flat,  and  the  valley 
where  his  cows  were  feeding  just  southward,  and 
how  the  hills  rolled  up  grandly  westward,  and  were 
hemmed  in  to  the  north  by  a  heavy  belt  of  timber. 

I  think  we  are  all  hypocrites  at  a  bargain.  I  sus 
pect  I  threw  out  casual  objections  to  the  house,  and 
the  distance,  and  the  roughness  ;  and  yet  have  an  un 
easy  recollection  of  thanking  my  friend  for  having 
brought  to  my  notice  the  most  charming  spot  I  had 
yet  seen,  and  one  which  met  my  wish  in  nearly  every 
particular. 

It  seems  to  me  that  the  ride  to  town  must  have 
bnen  very  short,  and  my  dinner  a  hasty  one  :  I  know 
I  have  a  clear  recollection  of  wandering  over  those 
hills,  and  that  plateau  of  farmland,  afoot,  that  very 
afternoon.  I  remember  tramping  through  the  wood, 
and  testing  the  turf  after  the  manner  of  my  lank 
friend  upon  the  Hudson.  I  can  recall  distinctly  the 
aspect  of  house,  and  hills,  as  they  came  into  view  on 
my  second  drive  from  the  town  ;  how  a  great  stretch 
of  forest,  which  lay  in  common,  flanked  the  whole,  so 
that  the  farm  could  be  best  and  most  intelligibly 


THE  SEARCH  AND  FINDING.  39 

described  as — lying  on  the  edge  of  the  wood ;  and  it 
seemed  to  me,  that  if  it  should  be  mine,  it  should 
wear  the  name  of  Edgewood. 

It  is  the  name  it  bears  now.  I  will  not  detail  the 
means  by  which  the  coyness  of  my  iron-gray-haired 
friend  was  won  over  to  a  sale ;  it  is  enough  to  tell 
that  within  six  weeks  from  the  day  on  which  I  had 
first  sighted  the  view,  and  brushed  through  the  lilac 
hedge  at  the  door,  the  place,  from  having  been  the 
home  of  another,  had  became  a  home  of  mine,  and  a 
new  stock  of  Lares  was  blooming  in  the  Atrium. 

In>  the  disposition  of  the  landscape,  and  in  the 
breadth  of  the  land,  there  was  all,  and  more  than  I 
had  desired.  There  was  an  eastern  slope  where  the 
orchard  lay,  which  took  the  first  burst  of  the  morn 
ing,  and  the  first  warmth  of  Spring ;  there  was  an 
other  valley  slope  southward  from  the  door,  which 
took  the  warmth  of  the  morning,  and  which  keeps 
the  sun  till  night.  There  was  a  wood,  in  which  now 
the  little  ones  gather  anemones  in  spring,  and  in  au 
tumn,  heaping  baskets  of  nuts.  There  was  a  strip  of 
sea  in  sight,  on  which  I  can  trace  the  white  sails,  as 
they  come  and  go,  without  leaving  my  library  chair  ; 
and  each  night  I  see  the  flame  of  a  lighthouse  kin 
dled,  and  its  reflection  dimpled  on  the  water.  If  the 
brook  is  out  of  sight,  beyond  the  hills,  it  has  its 


40  MY  FARM. 

representative  in  the  fountain  that  is  gurgling  and 
plashing  at  my  door. 

And  it  is  in  full  sight  of  that  sea,  where  even 
now  the  smoky  banner  of  a  steamer  trails  along  the 
sky,  and  in  the  hearing  of  the  dash  of  that  very  foun 
tain,  and  with  the  fragrance  of  those  lilacs  around 
me,  that  I  close  this  initial  chapter  of  my  book,  anc 
lay  down  my  pen. 


TAKING    REINS  IN  HAND 


II. 

TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND. 


Around  the  He 


ouse. 


A  LTHOUGH  possessing  all  the  special  requisites 
~LJL  of  which  I  had  been  in  search,  yet  the  farm  was 
by  no  means  without  its  inaptitudes  and  roughnesses. 
There  was  an  accumulation  of  half-decayed  logs  in 
one  quarter,  of  mouldering  chips  in  another, — being 
monumental  of  the  choppings  and  hewings  of  half  a 
score  of  years.  Old  iron  had  its  establishment  in 
this  spot;  cast-away  carts  and  sleds  in  that;  walls 
which  had  bulged  out  with  the  upheaval  of— I  know 
not  how  many — frosts,  had  been  ingeniously  mended 
with  discarded  harrows  or  axles  ;  there  was  the  usual 
debris  of  clam  shells,  and  there  were  old  outbuild 
ings  standing  awry,  and  showing  rhomboidal  angles 
in  their  outline.  These  approached  the  house  very 
nearly, — so  nearly,  in  fact,  that  in  one  direction  at 


44  MY  FARM. 

least,  it  was  difficult  to  say  where  the  province  of 
the  poultry  and  calves  ended,  and  where  the  human 
occupancy  began. 

There  was  a  monstrous  growth  of  dock  and  bur 
dock  about  the  outer  doors,  and  not  a  few  rank 
shoots  of  that  valuable  medicinal  herb— stramonium. 
There  were  the  invariable  clumps  of  purple  lilacs,  in 
most  unmanageable  positions;  a  few  straggling 
bunches  of  daffodils;  an  ancient  garden  with  its 
measly  looking,  mossy  gooseberries;  a  few  straw 
berry  plants,  and  currant  bushes  keeping  up  inter 
ruptedly  the  pleasant  formality  of  having  once  been 
set  in  rows,  and  of  having  nodded  their  crimson  tas 
sels  at  each  other  across  the  walk.  There  were  some 
half  dozen  huge  old  pear  trees,  immediately  in  the 
rear  of  the  house,  mossy,  and  promising  inferior  na 
tive  fruit ;  but  full  of  a  vigor  that  I  have  since  had 
the  pleasure  of  transmuting  into  golden  Bartletts. 
There  were  a  few  plum  trees,  loaded  with  black 
knot ;  a  score  of  peach  trees  in  out  of  the  way  places, 
all  showing  unfortunate  marks  of  that  vegetable 
jaundice,  the  yellows,  which  throughout  New  Eng 
land  is  the  bane  of  this  delicious  fruit. 

There  was  the  usual  huge  barn,  a  little  wavy  in 
its  ridge,  and  with  an  aged  settle  to  its  big  doors ; 
while  under  the  eaves  were  jagged  pigeon  holes,  cut 
by  adventurous  boys,  ignorant  of  curvilinear  har- 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND,  45 

monies.     Upon  the  peak  was  a  lively  weather-cock 

of  shingle,  most  preposterously  active  in  its  motions, 
and  trimming  to  every  flaw  of  wind  with  a  nervous 
rapidity,  that  reminded  me  of  nothing  so  much  as  of 
the  alacrity  of  a  small  newspaper  editor.  There  was 
the  attendant  company  of  farm  sheds,  low  sheds, 
high  sheds,  tumble-down  sheds,  one  with  a  motley 
array  of  seasoned  lumber,  well  dappled  over  with 
such  domestic  coloring  as  barn-yard  fowls  are  in  the 
habit  of  administering ;  another,  with  sleds  and 
sleighs, — looking  out  of  place  in  June — and  sub 
mitted  to  the  same  domestic  garniture.  There  was 
the  cider  mill  with  its  old  casks,  and  press,  seamy  and 
mildewed,  both  having  musty  taint.  A  convenient 
mossy  cherry  tree  was  hung  over  with  last  year's 
scythes  and  bush-hooks,  while  two  or  three  broken 
ox  chains  trailed  from  the  stump  of  a  limb,  which 
had  suffered  amputation.  Xor  must  I  forget  the 
shop,  half  home-made,  half  remnant  of  something 
better,  with  an  old  hat  or  two  thrust  into  the  broken 
sashes — with  its  unhelved,  gone-by  axes,  its  hoes 
with  half  their  blade  gone,  its  dozen  of  infirm  rakes, 
its  hospital  shelf  for  broken  swivels,  heel-wedges 
and  dried  balls  of  putty. 

I  remember  passing  a  discriminating  eye  over  the 
tools,  bethinking  me  how  I  would  swing  the  broad 
axe,  or  put  the  saws  to  sharp  service  ;  for  in  bargain 


46  MY  FARM. 


ing  for  the  farm,  I  had  also  bargained  for  the  imple 
ments  of  which  there  might  be  immediate  need. 

Directly  upon  the  roadway,  before  the  house, 
rose  a  high  wall,  supporting  the  little  terrace  that 
formed  the  front  yard  ;  the  terrace  was  a  wilderness 
of  roses,  lilacs,  and  undipped  box.  The  entrance 
way  was  by  a  flight  of  stone  steps  which  led  through 
the  middle  of  the  terrace,  and  of  the  wall ;  while 
over  the  steps  hung  the  remnants  of  an  ancient  arch 
way,  which,  had  once  supported  a  gilded  lantern  ; 
and  I  was  told  with  an  air  of  due  reverence,  that  this 
gilded  spangle  of  the  town  life,  was  a  memento  of 
the  hospitalities  of  a  certain  warm-blooded  West 
Indian,  who  in  gone  by  years  had  lighted  up  the 
country  home  with  cheery  festivities.  I  would  have 
cherished  the  lantern  if  it  had  not  long  before  dis 
appeared  ;  and  the  steps  that  may  have  once  thronged 
under  it,  must  be  all  of  them  heavy  with  years  now, 
if  they  have  not  rested  from  their  weary  beat  alto 
gether.  Both  wall  and  terrace  are  now  gone,  and  a 
gentle  swell  of  green  turf  is  in  their  place,  skirted 
by  a  hedge  and  low  rustic  paling,  and  crowned  by  a 
gaunt  pine  tree,  and  a  bowering  elm. 

The  same  hospitable  occupant,  to  whom  I  have 
referred,  had  made  additions  to  the  home  itself,  so  as 
to  divest  it  of  the  usual,  stereotyped  farm-house  look, 
by  a  certain  quaintness  of  outline.  This  he  had  done 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  47 

by  extending  the  area  of  the  lower  story  some 
ten  feet,  in  both  front  and  rear,  while  the  roof  of 
this  annex  was  concealed  by  a  heavy  balustrade, 
perched  upon  the  eaves ;  thus  giving  the  effect  of 
one  large  cube,  surmounted  by  a  lesser  one ;  the 
uppermost  was  topped  with  a  roof  of  sharp  pitch, 
through  whose  ridge  protruded  two  enormous  chim 
ney  stacks.  But  this  alteration  was  of  so  old  a  date 
as  not  to  detract  from  the  venerable  air  of  the  house. 
Even  the  jaunty  porch  which  jutted  in  front  of 
all,  showed  gaping  seams,  and  stains  of  ancient  leak 
age,  that  forbade  any  suspicion  of  newness. 

Within,  the  rooms  had  that  low-browed  look 
which  belongs  to  country  farm-houses ;  and  I  will 
not  disguise  the  matter  by  pretending  that  they  are 
any  higher  now.  I  have  occasional  visitors  whom  I 
find  it  necessary  to  caution  as  they  pass  under  the 
doorways  ;  and  the  stray  wasps  that  will  float  into 
the  open  casements  of  so  old  a  country  house,  in  the 
first  warm  days  of  Spring,  are  not  out  of  reach  of  my 
boy,  (just  turned  of  five,)  as  he  mounts  a  chair,  and 
makes  a  cut  at  them  with  his  dog-whip,  upon  the 
ceiling. 

I  must  confess  that  I  do  not  dislike  this  old  hu 
mility  of  house-building  ;  if  windows,  open  chimney 
places,  and  situation  give  good  air,  what  matters  it, 
that  your  quarters  by  night  are  three  or  four  feet 


48  MY  FARM. 

nearer  to  your  quarters  by  day  ?  In  summer,  if  some 
simple  trellised  pattern  of  paper  cover  the  ceiling,  you 
enjoy  the  illusion  of  a  low  branching  bower  ;  and  of 
a  winter  evening,  the  play  of  the  fire-light  on  the 
hearth  flashes  over  it,  with  a  kindly  nearness. 

I  know  the  outgoing  parties  found  no  pleasant 
task  in  the  leave-taking.  I  am  sure  the  old  lady  who 
was  its  mistress  felt  a  pang  that  was  but  poorly  con 
cealed  ;  I  have  a  recollection  that  on  one  of  my  fur 
tive  visits  of  observation,  I  unwittingly  came  upon 
her — at  a  stand-still  over  some  bit  of  furniture  that 
was  to  be  prepared  for  the  cart, — with  her  hand 
kerchief  fast  to  her  eyes.  It  cannot  be  otherwise  at 
parting  with  even  the  lowliest  homes,  where  we  have 
known  of  deaths,  and  births,  and  pleasures,  and  little 
storms  that  have  had  their  sweep  and  lull ;  and 
where  slow-pacing  age  has  declared  itself  in  gray 
hair,  and  the  bent  figure.  It  is  tearing  leaf  on  leaf 
out  of  the  thin  book  where  our  lives  are  written. 

Even  the  farmer's  dog  slipped  around  the  angles 
of  the  house,  as  the  change  was  going  forward,  with 
a  fitful,  frequent,  uneasy  trot,  as  if  he  were  disposed 
to  make  the  most  of  the  last  privileges  of  his  home. 
The  cat  alone,  of  all  the  living  occupants,  took  mat 
ters  composedly,  and  paced  eagerly  about  from  one 
to  another  of  her  disturbed  haunts  in  buttery  and 
kitchen,  with  a  philosophic  indifference.  I  should  not 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  49 

wonder  indeed  if  she  indulged  in  a  little  riotous 
exultation  at  finding  access  to  nooks  which  had  been 
hitherto  cumbered  with  assemblages  of  firkins  and 
casks.  I  have  no  faith  in  cats :  they  are  a  cold-blooded 
race  ;  they  are  the  politicians  among  domestic  ani 
mals  ;  they  care  little  who  is  master,  or  what  are  the 
over-turnings,  if  their  pickings  are  secure  ;  and  what 
are  their  midnight  caucuses  but  primary  meetings  ? 


Hy  Bees. 

A  SHELF,  on  which  rested  five  bee-hives  with  their 
buzzing  swarms,  stood  beside  a  clump  of  lilacs, 
not  far  from  one  of  the  side  doors  of  the  farm  house. 
These  the  outgoing  occupant  was  indisposed  to  sell ; 
it  was  "  unlucky,"  he  said,  to  give  up  ownership  of 
an  old-established  colony.  The  idea  was  new  to  me, 
and  I  was  doubly  anxious  to  buy,  that  I  might  give 
his  whimsey  a  fair  test.  So  I  overruled  his  scruples 
at  length,  moved  the  bees  only  a  distance  of  a  few 
yards,  gave  them  a  warm  shelter  of  thatch,  and 
strange  to  say,  they  all  died  within  a  year. 

I  restocked  the  thatched  house  several  times  after 
ward  ;  and  there  was  plenty  of  marjoram  and  sweet 
clover  to  delight  them  ;  whether  it  was  that  the  mis 
fortunes  of  the  first  colony  haunted  the  place,  I  know 
not,  but  they  did  not  thrive.  Sometimes,  I  was  told, 
3 


50  MY  FARM. 

it  was  the  moth  that  found  its  way  into  their  hives ; 
sometimes  it  was  an  invasion  of  piratical  ants  ;  and 
every  summer  I  observe  that  a  few  gallant  king  birds 
take  up  their  station  near  by,  and  pounce  upon  the 
flying  scouts,  as  they  go  back  with  their  golden 
booty. 

I  have  not  the  heart  to  shoot  the  king  birds  ;  nor 
do  I  enter  very  actively  into  the  battle  of  the  bees 
against  the  moths,  or  the  ants  ;  least  of  all,  do  I 
interfere  in  the  wars  of  the  bees  among  themselves, 
which  I  have  found,  after  some  observation,  to  bo 
more  destructive  and  ruinous,  than  any  war  with 
foreign  foes.*  I  give  them  fair  play,  good  lodging, 
limitless  flowers,  willows  bending  (as  Virgil  advises) 
into  the  quiet  water  of  a  near  pool ;  I  have  even  read 
up  the  stories  of  poor  blind  Huber,  who  so  loved  the 
bees,  and  the  poem  of  Giovanni  Rucellai,  for  their 
benefit :  if  they  cannot  hold  their  sceptre  against  the 
tender-winged  moths,  who  have  no  cruel  stings,  or 
against  the  ants,  or  the  wasps,  or  give  over  their 
satanic  quarrels  with  their  kindred,  let  them  abide 
the  consequences.  I  will  not  say,  however,  but  that 

*  The  Rev.  Charles  Butler,  in  his  "  Feminine  Monarchic  "  (Lon 
don,  1609),  after  speaking  in  Chapter  VII  of  "Deir  Enemies," 
continues:  "But  not  any  one  of  dese,  nor  all  dese  togeder,  doo 
half  so  muc  harm  to  de  Bees,  as  de  Bees.  Apis  api,  ut  homo  homi- 
m,  Lupus.  Dey  mak  dc  greatest  spoil  bot  of  bees  and  of  hoonie. 
Dis  robbing  is  practised  all  dc  yeer." 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND  51 

the  recollection  of.  the  sharp  screams  of  a  little  "  curl 
pate  "  that  have  once  or  twice  pierced  my  ears,  as 
she  ventured  into  too  close  companionship,  has  indis 
posed  me  to  any  strong  advocacy  of  the  bees. 

My  experience  enables  me  to  say  that  hives  should 
not  be  placed  too  near  each  other ;  the  bees  have  a 
very  human  propensity  to  quarrel,  and  their  quarrels 
are  ruinous.  They  blunder  into  each  other's  homes, 
if  near  together,  with  a  most  wanton  affectation  of 
forgetfulness ;  and  they  steal  honey  that  has  been 
carefully  stored  away  in  the  cells  of  sister  swarms, 
with  a  vicious  energy  that  they  rarely  bestow  upon  a 
flower.  In  their  field  forays,  I  believe  they  are 
respectful  of  each  other's  rights;  but  at  home,  if 
only  the  order  is  once  disturbed,  and  a  neighbor 
swarm  shows  signs  of  weakness,  they  are  the  most 
malignant  pirates  it  is  possible  to  conceive  of. 

Again,  let  no  one  hope  for  success  in  their  treat 
ment,  unless  he  is  disposed  to  cultivate  familiarity ; 
a  successful  bee-keeper  loves  his  bees,  and  has  a  Avay 
of  fondling  them,  and  pushing  his  intimacy  about 
the  swarming  time,  which  I  would  not  counsel  an 
inapt  or  a  nervous  person  to  imitate. 

Gelieu,  a  Swiss  authority,  and  a  rival  of  Huber  in 
his  enthusiasm,  says  :  "  Beaucoup  de  gens  aiment  les 
abeilles ;  je  n'ai  vu  personne  qui  les  aima  mediocre 
ment  /  on  sepassionne  pour  elles." 


52  MY  FARM. 


I  have  a  neighbor,  a, quiet  old. gentleman,  who  is 
possessed  of  this  passion  ;  his  swarms  multiply  indefi 
nitely;  I  see  him  holding  frequent  conversations 
with  them  through  the  backs  of  their  hives ;  all  the 
stores  of  my  little  colony  would  be  absorbed  hi  a 
day,  if  they  were  brought  into  contact  with  his  lusty 
swarms. 

Many  of  the  old  writers  tell  pleasant  stories  of 
the  amiable  submission  of  their  favorites  to  gentle 
handling  ;  but  I  have  never  had  the  curiosity  to  put 
this  submission  to  the  test.  I  remember  that  Van 
Amburgh  tells  tender  stories  of  the  tigers. 

I  have  observed,  however,  that  little  people  listen 
with  an  amused  interest  to  those  tales  of  the  bees, 
and  I  have  sometimes  availed  myself  of  a  curious  bit 
of  old  narrative,  to  staunch  the  pain  of  a  sting. 

"Who  will  listen,"  I  say,  "to  a  story  of  M. 
Lombard's,  about  a  little  girl,  on  whose  hand  a  whole 
swarm  of  bees  once  alighted  ?  " 

And  all  say  "I" — save  the  sobbing  one,  who 
looks  consent. 

M.  Lombard  was  a  French  lawyer,  who  was 
for  a  long  time  imprisoned  in  the  dungeons  of  Robes 
pierre  ;  and  when  that  tyrant  reformer  was  beheaded, 
this  prisoner  gained  his  liberty,  and  went  into  the  coun 
try,  where  he  became  a  farmer,  and  wrote  three  or  four 
books  about  the  bees :  among  other  things  he  says : 


TAKING   REINS  IN  HAND.  53 

"  A  young  girl  of  my  acquaintance  was  greatly 
afraid  of  bees,  but  was  completely  cured  of  her  fear 
by  the  following  incident.  A  swarm  having  left  a 
hive,  I  observed  the  queen  alight  by  herself,  at  a 
little  distance  from  the  apiary.  I  immediately 
called  my  little  friend,  that  I  might  show  her  this 
important  personage ;  she  was  anxious  to  have  a 
nearer  view  of  her  majesty,  and  therefore,  having 
first  caused  her  to  draw  on  her  gloves,  I  gave  the 
queen  into  her  hand.  Scarcely  had  I  done  so,  Avhen 
we  were  surrounded  by  the  whole  bees  of  the  swarm. 
In  this  emergency,  I  encouraged  the  trembling  girl  to 
be  steady,  arid  to  fear  nothing,  remaining  myself 
close  by  her,  and  covering  her  head  and  shoulders 
with  a  thin  handkerchief.  I  then  made  her  stretch 
out  the  hand  that  held  the  queen,  and  the  bees  in 
stantly  alighted  on  it,  and  hung  from  her  fingers  as 
from  the  branch  of  a  tree.  The  little  girl,  experien 
cing  no  injury,  was  delighted  above  measure  at  the 
novel  sight,  and  so  entirely  freed  from  all  fear,  that 
she  bade  me  uncover  her  face.  The  spectators  were 
charmed  at  the  interesting  spectacle.  I  at  length 
brought  a  hive,  and  shaking  the  swarm  from  the 
child's  hand,  it  was  lodged  in  safety  without  inflict 
ing  a  single  sting." 

As  I  begin  the  story,  there  is  a  tear  in  the  eye  of 
the  sobbing  on.',  b:it  rs  I  n.v;d  on,  the  tear  is  gone. 


54  MY  FARM. 


and  the  eye  dilates ;  and  when  I  have  done,  the  sting 
is  forgotten. 

I  have  written  thus  at  length,  at  the  suggestion 
of  my  thatch  of  a  bee  house,  because  I  shall  have 
nothing  to  say  of  my  bees  again,  as  co-partners  with 
me  in  the  flowers,  and  in  the  farm.  I  have  to  charge 
to  their  account  a  snug  sum  for  purchase  money,  and 
for  their  straw  housing — a  good  many  hours  of  bad 
humor,  and  the  recollection  of  those  little  screams 
to  which  I  have  already  alluded.  Thus  far,  I  can 
only  credit  them  with  one  or  two  moderately  sized 
jars  of  honey,  and  a  pleasant  concerted  buzzing  with 
which  they  welcome  the  first  warm  weather  of 
the  Spring.  Even  as  I  write,  I  observe  that  a  few  of 
my  winged  workers  are  alight  upon  the  mossy 
stones  that  lie  half  covered  in  the  basin  of  the  foun 
tain,  and  are  sedulously  exploring  the  water. 

Clearing   Up. 

OF  course  one  of  the  first  aims,  in  taking  posses 
sion  of  such  a  homestead  as  I  have  partially  de 
scribed,  was  to  make  a  clearance  of  debris,  of  unne 
cessary  palings,  of  luxuriant  corner  crops  of  nettles 
and  burdocks,  of  mouldering  masses  of  decayed  vege 
table  matter,  of  old  conchologic  deposits,  and  ferru 
ginous  wreck  ;  all  this  clearance  being  not  so  much 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  55 

agricultural  employment,  as  hygienic.  There  seems 
to  have  been  a  mania  with  the  old  New  England 
householders,  in  the  country,  for  multiplying  enclo 
sures, — front  yards,  back  yards,  south  and  north 
yards, — all  with  their  palings  and  gates,  which  grow 
shaky  with  years,  and  give  cover  to  rank  and  worth 
less  vegetation  in  corners,  that  no  cultivation  can 
reach.  Of  this  multitude  of.  palings  I  made  short 
work :  good  taste,  economy,  and  all  rules  of  good 
tillage,  unite  in  favor  of  the  fewest  possible  enclo 
sures,  and  confirm  the  wisdom  of  making  the  palings 
for  such  as  are  necessary,  as  simple  as  their  office  of 
defence  will  allow. 

So  it  happened  under  my  ruling  that  the  little 
terrace  yard  of  the  front  lost  its  identity,  and  was 
merged  in  the  yard  to  the  north, — with  the  lit 
tle  bewildered  garden  to  the  south, — with  the 
straggling  peach  orchard  in  the  rear  ;  and  all  these 
merged  again,  by  the  removal  of  a  totaling  wall, 
with  the  valley  pasture  that  lay  southward;  where 
now  clumps  of  evergreen,  and  azalias,  and  lilacs 
crown  the  little  swells,  and  hide  the  obtrusive  angles 
of  barriers  beyond ;  so  that  the  children  may  race, 
from  the  door,  over  firm,  clean,  green  sward,  for  a 
gunshot  away.  This  change  has  not  been  only 
to  the  credit  of  the  eye,  but  in  every  particular 
economic.  The  cost  of  establishing  and  repairing  the 


»6  MY  FARM. 

division  palings  has  been  done  away  with ;  the  inao 
cessible  angles  of  enclosures  which  fed  monstrous 
wild  growth,  are  submitted  to  even  culture  and  crop 
ping  ;  an  under  drain  through  the  bottom  of  the  val 
ley  lawn,  has  absorbed  the  scattered  stones  and  the 
tottling  wall  of  the  pasture,  and  given  a  rank  growth 
»f  red-top  and  white  clover,  where  before,  through 
three  months  of  the  year,  was  almost  a  quagmire. 
This  drain,  fed  by  lesser  branches  laid  on  from  time 
to  time  through  the  springy  ground  of  the  peach 
orchard,  and  by  the  waste  way  of  the  fountain  at  the 
door,  now  discharges  into  a  little  pool  (once  a  mud 
hole)  at  the  extremity  of  the  lawn,  where  a  willow 
or  two  timidly  dip  their  branches,  and  the  frogs  wel 
come  every  opening  April  with  a  riotous  uproar  of 
voices.  Even  the  scattered  clumps  of  trees  stand 
upon  declivities  where  cultivation  would  have  been 
difficult,  or  they  hide  out-cropping  rocks  which  were 
too  heavy  for  the  walls,  or  the  drains.  So  it  has 
come  about  that  the  old  flimsy  pasture,  with  its 
blotches  of  mulleins,  thistles,  wax  myrtles,  and  the 
ill  shapen  yard,  straggling  peach  orchard  (long  since 
gone  by),  have  made  my  best  grass  field,  which  needs 
only  an  occasional  top  dressing  of  ashes  or  compost, 
and  a  biennial  scratching  with  a  line-toothed  harrow, 
to  yield  me  two  tons  to  the  acre  of  sweet-scented 
hay. 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  57 

I  may  remark  here,  in  way  of  warning  to  those 
who  undertake  the  renovation  of  slatternly  country 
places,  with  exuberant  spirits,  that  it  is  a  task  which 
often  seems  easier  than  it  proves.  More  especially 
is  this  the  case  where  there  is  an  accumulation 
of  old  walls,  and  of  unsightly,  clumsy-shaped  rocks 
to  be  dealt  with.  They  may  indeed  be  transferred 
to  new  walls ;  but  this  involves  an  expenditure,  often 
times,  which  no  legitimate  estimate  of  a  farm  revenue 
will  warrant ;  and  I  propose  to  illustrate  in  this  book 
no  theories  of  improvement,  whether  as  regards  orna 
mentation  or  increased  productiveness,  which  a 
sound  economy  will  not  authorize.  Agricultural  suc 
cesses  which  are  the  result  of  simple,  lavish  expendi 
ture,  without  reference  to  agricultural  returns,  are 
but  empty  triumphs  ;  no  success  in  any  method  of 
culture  is  thoroughly  sound  and  praiseworthy,  except 
it  be  imitable,  to  the  extent  of  his  means,  by  the 
smallest  farmer.  The  crop  that  is  grown  at  twice  its 
market  value  to  the  bushel,  may  possibly  suggest  a 
hint  to  the  scientific  theorist ;  but  it  will  never  be 
emulated  by  the  man  whose  livelihood  depends  upon 
the  product  of  his  farm.  Those  who  transfer  the 
accumulated  fortunes  of  the  city  to  the  country,  for 
the  encouragement  of  agriculture,  should  bear  in 
mind,  first  of  all,  that  their  endeavors  will  have- 
healthy  influence,  only  so  far  as  they  are  imitable ; 
3* 


58  MY  FARM. 

and  they  will  be  imitable  only  so  far  as  they  are  sub. 
ordinated  to  the  trade  laws  of  profit  and  loss.  Farm 
ing  is  not  a  fanciful  pursuit;  its  aim  is  not  to 
produce  the  largest  possible  crop  at  whatever  cost ; 
but  its  aim  is,  or  should  be,  taking  a  series  of  years 
together,  to  produce  the  largest  crops  at  the  least 
possible  cost. 

If  my  neighbor,  by  an  expenditure  of  three  or 
four  hundred  dollars  to  the  acre  in  the  removal  of 
rocks  and  other  impedimenta,  renders  his  field  equal 
to  an  adjoining  smooth  one,  which  will  pay  a  fair 
farm  rental  on  a  valuation  of  only  two  hundred  dol 
lars  per  acre,  he  may  be  congratulated  upon  having 
extended  his  available  agricultural  area,  but  he  can 
not  surely  be  congratulated  on  having  made  a  profit 
able  transaction. 

The  weazen  faced  old  gentlemen  who  drive  by  in 
their  shirt  sleeves,  and  call  attention  to  the  matter 
with  a  gracious  wave  of  their  hickory  whipstocks, 
allow  that — "  it's  fine  ;  but  don't  pay."  Such  obser 
vers — an<l  they  make  up  the  bulk  of  those  who  have 
the  country  in  their  keeping — must  be  addressed 
through  their  notions  of  economy,  or  they  will  not 
be  reached  at  all. 

In  the  case  supposed,  I  have,  of  course,  assumed 

"that  only  ordinary  farm  culture  was  to  be  bestowed  : 

although  there  may  be   conditions  of  high  tillage, 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  59 

extraordinary  nicety  of  culture,  and  nearness  to  a 
large  market,  which  would  warrant  the  expenditure 
of  even  a  thousand  dollars  per  acre  with  profitable 
results. 

But  rocky  farms,  even  away  from  markets,  are 
not  without  their  profits,  and  a  certain  wild,  yet  sub 
dued  order  of  their  own.  I  have  never  seen  sweeter 
or  warmer  pasture  ground,  than  upon  certain  hillsides 
strown  thick  with  great  granite  boulders,  spangled 
with  mica,  and  green-gray  mosses  ;  nor  was  the  view 
unthrifty,  with  its  fat,  rufiie-necked  merino  ewes 
grazing  in  company ;  nor  yet  unattractive  to  other 
than  farm-eyes — with  its  brook  bursting  from  under 
some  ledge  that  is  overhung  with  gnarled  birches, 
and  illuminated  with  nodding,  crimson  columbines — 
then  yawing  away  between  its  green  banks,  with  a 
new  song  for  every  stone  that  tripped  its  flow. 

One  of  the  daintiest  and  most  productive  fruit 
gardens  it  was  ever  my  pleasure  to  see,  was  in  the 
midst  of  other  gray  rocks ;  the  grape  vines  so  trained 
as  to  receive  the  full  reflection  of  the  sun  from  the 
surface  of  the  boulders,  and  the  intervals  occupied 
with  rank  growing  gooseberries  arid  plums,  all  faith 
fully  subject  to  spade  culture.  The  expense  of  the 
removal  of  the  rocks  would  have  been  enormous ; 
and  I  doubt  very  seriously  if  the  productive  capacity 
would  have  been  increased.  Again,  I  have  seen  a 


60  MY  FARM. 

ridge  of  cliff  with  its  outlying  slaty  debris,  in  the 
very  centre  of  a  garden,  which  many  a  booby  leveller 
would  have  been  disposed  to  blast  away,  and  trans 
mute  into  walls, — yet  under  the  hand  of  taste,  so 
tressed  over  with  delicate  trailing  plants,  and  so 
kindled  up  with  flaming  spikes  of  salvia,  and  masses 
of  scarlet  geranium,  as  to  make  it  the  crowning  at 
traction  of  the  place.  All  clearance  is  not  judicious 
clearance. 

But  I  have  not  yet  cleared  the  way  to  my  own 
back  door  ;  though  at  a  distance  of  only  a  few  rods 
from  the  highway,  I  could  reach  it,  on  taking  occu 
pancy,  only  by  skirting  a  dangerous  looking  shed, 
and  passing  through  two  dropsical  gates  that  were 
heavy  with  a  mass  of  mouldy  lumber. 

These  gates  opened  upon  a  straggling  cattle  yard, 
whose  surface  was  so  high  and  dense,  as  to  distribute 
a  powerful  flow  of  yellow  streamlets  in  very  awk 
ward  directions  after  every  shower.  One  angle  of 
this  yard  it  was  necessary  to  traverse  before  reaching 
my  door.  My  clearance  here  was  decisive  and 
prompt.  The  threatening  shed  came  down  upon  tlie 
run  ;  the  mouldering  gates  and  fences  were  splin 
tered  into  kindling  wood  ;  the  convexity  of  the  cattle 
yard  was  scooped  into  a  dish,  with  provision  for 
possible  overflow  in  safe  directions.  A  snug  compact 
fence  blinded  it  all,  and  confined  it  within  reasonable 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  61 

limits.  A  broad,  free,  gravelly  yard,  with  occasional 
obtrusive  stones,  now  lay  open,  through  which  I 
ordered  a  loaded  team  to  be  driven  by  the  easiest 
track  from  the  highway  to  the  door,  and  thence  to 
make  an  easy  and  natural  turn,  and  pass  on  to  the 
stable-court.  This  line  of  transit  marked  out  my 
road :  what  was  easiest  for  the  cattle  once,  would  be 
easiest  always.  There  is  no  better  rule  for  laying 
down  an  approach  over  rolling  ground — none  so 
simple  ;  none  which,  in  one  instance  out  of  six,  will 
show  more  grace  of  outline.  The  obtrusive  stones 
were  removed ;  the  elliptical  spaces  described  by  the 
inner  line  of  track,  which  were  untouched,  and  which 
would  need  never  to  be  touched  by  any  passage  of 
teams,  were  dug  over  and  stocked  with  evergreens, 
lilacs,  and  azalias. 

These  are  now  well  established  clumps,  in  which 
wild  vines  have  intruded,  and  under  which  the  brood 
of  summer  chickens  find  shelter  from  the  sun,  and  the 
children  a  pretty  cover  for  their  hoydenish  "  hide  and 
go  seek." 

Thus  far  I  have  anticipated  those  changes  and 
improvements  which  immediately  concerned  the  com 
fort  and  the  order  of  the  home.  With  these  pro 
vided,  and  the  paperers  and  painters  all  fairly  turned 
adrift,  and  the  newly  planted  flowers  abloom,  the 
question  occurs — what  shall  be  done  with  the  Farm  ? 


62  MY  FARM. 


What  to  Do  with  the  Farm. 

THEEE  are  not  a  few  entertaining  people  of  the 
cities,  who  imagine  that  a  farm  of  one  or  two 
hundred  acres  has  a  way  of  managing  itself ;  and  that 
it  works  out  crops  and  cattle  from  time  to  time,  very 
much  as  small  beer  works  into  a  foamy  ripeness,  by 
a  law  of  its  own  necessity. 

I  wish  with  all  my  heart  that  it  were  true  ;  but  it 
is  not.  For  successful  farming,  there  must  be  a  well 
digested  plan  of  operations,  and  the  faithful  execu 
tion  of  that  plan.  It  is  possible,  indeed,  to  secure  the 
services  of  an  intelligent  manager,  upon  whom  shall 
devolve  all  the  details  of  the  business,  and  who  shall 
shape  all  the  agricultural  operations,  by  the  rules  of 
his  own  experience ;  but  however  extended  this  expe 
rience  may  have  been,  the  result  will  be,  in  nine  cases 
out  of  ten,  most  unsatisfactory  to  one  who  wishes  to 
have  a  clear  and  intimate  knowledge  of  the  capabili 
ties  of  his  land ;  and  very  disagreeably  unsatisfactory 
to  one  who  has  entertained  the  pleasing  illusion  that 
farm  lands  should  not  only  be  capable  of  paying 
their  own  way,  but  of  making  respectable  return 
upon  the  capital  invested.  Your  accomplished  farm 
manager — usually  of  British  birth  and  schooling,  but 
of  a  later  American  finish, — is  apt  to  entertain  the 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  63 

conviction  that  an  employer  who  gives  over  farm 
land  to  his  control,  regards  such  farm  land  only  as  a 
pleasant  parade  ground  for  fine  cattle  and  luxuriant 
crops,  which  are  to  be  placed  on  show  without  much 
regard  to  cost.  And  if  he  can  establish  the  owner  in 
a  conspicuous  position  on  the  prize  lists  of  the  Coun 
ty  or  State  Societies,  and  excite  the  gaping  wonder 
ment  of  old-fashioned  neighbors  by  the  luxuriance 
of  his  crops,  he  is  led  to  believe  that  he  has  achieved 
the  desired  success. 

The  end  of  it  is,  that  the  owner  enjoys  the  honors 
of  official  mention,  without  the  fatigue  of  relieving 
himself  of  ignorance  ;  the  manager  is  doubly  sure  of 
his  stipend ;  and  the  inordinate  expense  under  a 
direction  that  is  not  limited  by  commercial  proprie 
ties  or  proportions,  weakens  the  faith  of  all  onlookers 
in  "  improved  farming." 

I  am  satisfied  that  a  great  deal  of  hindrance  is 
done  in  this  way  to  agricultural  progress,  by  those, 
who  have  only  the  best  intentions  in  the  matter.  My 
friend,  Mr.  Tall  weed,  for  instance,  after  accumulat 
ing  a  fortune  in  the  city,  is  disposed  to  put  on  the 
dignity  of  country  pursuits,  and  advance  the  inter 
ests  of  agriculture.  He  purchases  a  valuable  place, 
builds  his  villa,  plants,  refits,  exhausts  architectural 
resources  in  his  outbuildings,  all  under  the  advice 
of  a  shrewd  Scotchman  recommended  by  Thorburn, 


64  MY  FARM. 

and  can  presently  make  such  show  of  dainty  cattle, 
and  of  mammoth  vegetables,  as  excites  the  stare  of 
the  neighborhood,  and  leads  to  his  enrolment  among 
the  dignitaries  of  the  County  Society. 

But  the  neighbors  who  stare,  have  their  occasional 
chat  with  the  canny  Scot,  from  whom  they  learn  that 
the  expenses  of  the  business  are  "  gay  large  ;  "  they 
pass  a  quiet  side  wink  from  one  to  the  other,  as  they 
look  at  the  vaulted  cellars,  and  the  cumbrous  ma 
chinery  ;  they  remark  quietly  that  the  multitude  of 
implements  does  not  forbid  the  employment  of  a 
multitude  of  form  "  hands  ;  "  they  shake  their  heads 
ominously  at  the  extraordinary  purchases  of  grain ; 
they  observe  that  the  pet  calves  are  usually  indulged 
with  a  wet  nurse,  in  the  shape  of  some  rawboned 
native  cow,  bought  specially  to  add  to  the  resources 
of  the  fine-blooded  dam ;  and  with  these  things  in 
their  mind — they  reflect. 

If  the  results  are  large,  it  seems  to  them  that  the 
means  are  still  more  extraordinary  ;  if  they  wonder 
at  the  size  of  the  crops,  they  wonder  still  more  at  the 
liberality  of  the  expenditure  ;  it  seems  to  them,  after 
full  comparison  of  notes  with  the  "braw"  Scot,  that 
even  their  own  stinted  crops  would  show  a  bettei4 
balance  sheet  for  the  farm.  It  appears  to  them  that 
if  premium  crops  and  straight-backed  animals  can 
only  be  had  by  such  prodigious  appliances  of  men 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  65 

and  money,  that  fine  farming  is  not  a  profession  to 
grow  rich  by.  And  yet,  our  doubtful  friends  of  the 
homespun  will  enjoy  the  neighborhood  of  such  a 
farmer,  and  profit  by  it ;  they  love  to  sell  him  "  likely 
young  colts  ;  "  they  eagerly  furnish  him  with  butter 
(at  the  town  price),  and  possibly  with  eggs  ;  his  own 
fowls  being  mostly  fancy  ones,  bred  for  premiums, 
and  indisposed  to  lay  largely  ;  in  short,  they  like  to 
tap  his  superfluities  in  a  hundred  ways.  They  admire 
Mr.  Tallweed,  particularly  upon  Fair  days,  when  he 
appears  in  the  dignity  of  manager  for  some  special 
interest ;  and  remark,  among  themselves,  that  "  the 
Squire  makes  a  thunderin'  better  committee-man, 
than  he  does  farmer."  And  when  they  read  of  him 
in  their  agricultural  journal — if  they  take  one — as  a 
progressive,  and  successful  agriculturist,  they  laugh  a 
little  in  their  sleeves  in  a  quiet  way,  and  conceive,  I 
am  afraid,  the  same  unfortunate  distrust  of  the  farm 
journal,  which  we  all  entertain — of  the  political  ones. 

Yet  the  Squire  is  as  innocent  of  all  deception,  and 
of  all  ill  intent  in  the  matter,  as  he  is  of  thrift  in  his 
farming.  Whoever  brings  to  so  practical  a  business 
the  ambition  to  astonish  by  the  enormity  of  his 
crops,  at  whatever  cost,  is  unwittingly  doing  discredit 
to  those  laws  of  economy,  which  alone  justify  and 
commend  the  craft  to  a  thoroughly  earnest  worker. 

Having  brought  no  ambition  of  this  sort  to  my 


06  MY  FARM. 

trial  of  country  life,  even  if  I  had  possessed  the 
means  to  give  it  expression,  I  had  also  no  desire  to 
give  over  all  plans  of  management  to  a  bailiff,  how 
ever  shrewd.  The  greatest  charm  of  a  country  life 
seems  to  me  to  spring  from  that  familiarity  with  the 
land,  and  its  capabilities,  which  can  come  only  from 
minute  personal  observation,  or  the  successive  devel 
opments  of  one's  own  methods  of  culture.  I  can 
admire  a  stately  crop  wherever  I  see  it ;  but  if  I  have 
directed  the  planting,  and  myself  applied  the  dress 
ing,  and  am  testing  my  own  method  of  tillage,  I 
look  upon  it  with  a  far  keener  relish.  Every  week  it 
unfolds  a  charm ;  if  it  puts  on  a  lusty  dark  green,  I 
see  that  it  is  taking  hold  upon  the  fertilizers  ;  if  it 
yellows  in  the  cool  nights,  and  grows  pale,  I  bethink 
me  if  I  will  not  put  off  the  planting  for  a  week  in  the 
season  to  come ;  if  it  curl  overmuch  in  the  heats 
of  later  June,  I  reckon  up  the  depth  of  my  plough 
ing  ;  and  when  the  spindles  begin  to  peep  out  from 
their  green  sheaths  day  after  day,  and  lift  up,  and 
finally  from  their  feathery  fingers  shake  down  pollen 
upon  the  silk  nestling  coyly  below,  I  see  in  it  all  a 
modest  promise  to  me— repeated  in  every  shower — 
of  the  golden  ears  that  shall  by  and  by  stand  blazing 
in  the  October  sunshine. 

But  all  this  only  answers  negatively  my  question 
of — what  to  do  with  the  Farm  ? 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  6? 

At  least,  it  shall  not  be  handed  over  absolutely  to 
the  control  of  a  manager,  no  matter  what  good  char* 
acter  he  may  bring  ;  and  I  will  aim  at  a  system  of 
cropping,  which  shall  make  some  measurable  return 
for  the  cost  of  production. 

Dairying. 

ANY  judicious  farm-system  must  be  governed  in 
a  large  degree  by  the  character  of  the  soil,  and 
by  the  nearest  available  market.  It  is  not  easy  to 
create  a  demand  for  what  is  not  Avanted ;  nor  is  it 
much  easier  so  to  transmute  soils  by  culture  or  by 
dressings,  as  to  produce  profitably  those  crops  to 
which  the  soils  do  not  naturally  incline.  I  am  fully 
aware  that  in  saying  this,  I  shall  start  an  angry  buzz 
about  my  ears,  of  those  progressive  agriculturists, 
who  allege  that  skilful  tillage  will  enable  a  man  to 
produce  any  crop  he  chooses  :  I  am  perfectly  aware 
that  Tull,  who  was  the  great  farm  reformer  of  his 
day,  ridiculed  Avith  unction  what  he  regarded  as 
those  antiquated  notions  of  Virgil,  that  soils  had 
their  antipathies  and  their  likings,  and  that  a  farmer 
could  not  profitably  impress  ground  to  carry  a  crop 
against  its  inclination.  But  I  strongly  suspect  that 
Tull,  like  a  great  many  earnest  reformers,  in  his  ad 
vocacy  of  the  supreme  benefit  of  tillage,  shot  beyond 


68  MY  FARM. 

the  mark,  and  assumed  for  his  doctrine  a  universality 
of  application,  which  practice  will  not  warrant.  1 
am  perfectly  confident  that  no  light  and  friable  soil 
will  carry  permanent  pasture  or  meadow,  with  the 
same  profit  which  belongs  to  the  old  grass  bottoms 
of  the  Hartford  meadows,  of  the  blue-grass  region, 
and  of  Somersetshire.  I  am  equally  confident  that  no 
stiff  clayey  soil  will  pay  so  well  for  the  frequent  work 
ings  which  vegetable  culture  involves,  as  a  light 
loam. 

Travellers  who  are  trustworthy,  tell  us  that  the 
grape  from  which  the  famous  Constantia  wine  is 
made,  at  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  is  grown  from  the 
identical  stock  which,  on  the  Rhine  banks,  makes  an 
inferior  and  totally  different  wine :  and  my  own  obser 
vation  has  shown  me  that  the  grapes  which  on  the 
Lafitte  estate  make  that  ruby  vintage  w^hose  aroma 
alone  is  equal  to  a  draught  of  ordinary  Medoc — only 
across  the  highway,  and  within  gunshot,  produce  a 
wine  for  which  the  proprietor  would  be  glad  to 
receive  a  fourth  only  of  the  Lafitte  price. 

Lands  have  their  likings  then,  though  Mr.  Tull  be 
of  the  contrary  opinion.  Any  crop  may  indeed  be 
grown  wherever  we  supply  the  requisite  conditions 
of  warmth,  moisture,  depth  of  soil,  and  appropriate 
dressings ;  but  just  in  the  proportion  that  we  find 
these  conditions  absent  in  any  given  soil,  and  are 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  69 

compelled  to  supply  them  artificially,  we  diminish  the 
chances  of  profit. 

My  own  soil  was  of  a  light  loamy  character,  and 
the  farm  lay  within  two  miles  of  a  town  of  forty 
thousand  inhabitants. 

Such  being  the  facts,  what  should  be  the  general 
manner  of  treatment  ? 

Grazing,  which  is  in  many  respects  the  most  invit 
ing  of  all  modes  of  farming,  was  out  of  the  question, 
for  the  reason  that  the  soil  did  not  incline  to  that  firm, 
close  turf-surface,  which  invites  grazing,  and  renders 
it  profitable.  N"or  do  I  mean  to  admit,  what  many 
old-fashioned  gentlemen  are  disposed  to  affirm,  that 
all  land  which  does  not  so  incline,  is  necessarily  infe 
rior  to  that  which  does.  If  grazing  were  the  chiefest 
of  agricultural  interests,  it  might  be  true.  But  it 
must  be  observed  that  strong  grass  lands  have  gen 
erally  a  tenacity  and  a  retentiveness  of  moisture, 
which  forbid  that  frequent  and  early  tillage,  that 
is  essential  to  other  growths ;  and  upon  careful 
reckoning,  I  doubt  very  much,  if  it  would  not  appear 
that  some  of  the  very  light  lands  in  the  neighborhood 
of  cities,  pay  a  larger  percentage  upon  the  agricultu 
ral  capital  invested,  than  any  purely  grazing  lands  in 
the  country.  Again,  even  supposing  that  the  soil 
were  adapted  to  grazing,  it  is  quite  doubtful  if  the 
best  of  grazing  lands  will  prove  profitable  in  the 


70  MY  FARM. 

neighborhood  of  large  towns  ;  doubtful  if  beef  and 
mutton  cannot  be  made  cheaper  in  out-of-the-way 
districts,  where  by  reason  of  distance  from  an  every 
day  market,  lands  command  a  low  price. 

For  kindred  reasons,  no  farm,  so  near  a  largr?  town 
of  the  East,  invites  the  growth  of  grain :  on  this 
score  there  can  be  no  competition  with  the  West, 
except  in  retired  parts  of  the  country,  where  land  is 
of  little  marketable  value. 

What  then  ?  Grazing  does  not  promise  well ; 
nor  does  grain-growing.  Shall  I  stock  my  land  with 
grass,  and  sell  the  hay  ?  Unfortunately,  this  experi 
ment  has  been  carried  too  far  already.  A  near  mar 
ket,  and  the  small  amount  of  labor  involved,  always 
encourage  it.  But  I  am  of  opinion  that  no  light 
land  will  warrant  this  strain,  except  where  manures 
from  outside  sources  are  easily  available,  and  are 
applied  with  a  generous  hand.  Such,  for  instance,  is 
the  immediate  neighborhood  of  the  sea  shore,  where 
fish  and  rockweed  are  accessible ;  or,  what  amounts 
to  the  same  thing,  such  disposition  of  the  land  as 
admits  of  thorough  irrigation.  In  my  case,  both 
these  were  wanting.  I  must  depend  for  manurial 
resources  upon  the  consumption  of  the  grasses  at 
home. 

And  this  suggests  dairying  :  dairying  in  its  ordi 
nary  sense,  indeed,  as  implying  butter  and  cheese 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  71 

making,  involves  grazing ;  and  can  be  most  profitably 
conducted  on  natural  grass  lands,  and  at  a  large  dis 
tance  from  market,  since  the  transport  of  these  com 
modities  is  easy.  But  there  remains  another  branch 
of  dairying — milk  supply — which  demands  nearness 
to  market,  which  is  even  more  profitable,  and  which 
does  not  involve  necessarily  a  large  reach  of  grazing 
land ;  the  most  successful  milk  dairies  in  this  coun 
try,  as  in  Great  Britain,  being  now  conducted  upon 
the  soiling  principle — that  is,  the  supply  of  green 
food  to  the  cows,  in  their  enclosures  or  stalls. 

What  plan  then  could  be  better  than  this  ? 
Transportation  to  market  was  small;  the  demand 
constant ;  the  thorough  tillage  which  the  condition  of 
the  soil  required,  was  encouraged ;  an  accumulation 
of  fertilizing  material  secured. 

The  near  vicinity  of  a  town  suggests  also  to  a 
good  husbandman,  the  growth  of  those  perishable 
products  which  will  not  bear  distant  transportation, 
such  as  the  summer  fruits  and  vegetables.  These 
demand  also  a  thorough  system  of  tillage,  and  a 
light  friable  soil  is,  of  all  others,  best  adapted 
to  their  successful  culture.  But  on  the  other  hand, 
they  do  not  in  themselves  furnish  the  means  of 
recuperating  lands  which  have  suffered  from  inju 
dicious  overcropping.  Their  cultivation,  unless  upon 
fields  which  are  already  in  a  high  state  of  tilth, 


72  MY  FARM. 

involves  a  large  outlay  for  fertilizing  materials  and 
for  labor — which  at  certain  seasons  must  be  at  ab- 
Bolute  command. 

In  view  of  these  considerations,  which  I  com 
mend  to  the  attention  and  to  the  criticism  of  the 
Agricultural  Journals,  I  determined  that  I  would 
have  my  herd  of  milch  cows,  and  commence  profes 
sional  life  as  milkman ;  keeping,  however,  the  small 
fruits  and  the  vegetables  in  reserve,  against  the  time 
when  the  land  by  an  effective  recuperative  system, 
should  be  able  to  produce  whatever  the  market  might 
demand. 

Happily,  too,  a  country  liver  is  not  bound  to  a 
single  farm  adventure.  If  the  cows  stand  sweltering 
in  the  reeking  stables,  it  shall  not  forbid  a  combing 
down  of  the  ancient  pear  trees,  and  the  tufting  of  all 
their  tops  with  an  abounding  growth  of  new  wood, 
that  shall  presently  be  aglow  with  the  Bonne  de  Jer 
sey,  or  with  luscious  Bartletts. 

If  there  is  a  rattle  of  tins  in  the  dairy,  the  blue 
birds  are  singing  in  the  maples.  If  an  uneasy  milker 
kicks  over  the  pail,  there  is  a  patch  of  Jenny  Linds 
that  make  a  fragrant  recompense.  If  the  thunder 
sours  the  milk,  the  nodding  flowers  and  the  rejoicing 
grass  give  the  shower  a  welcome. 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  73 


Laborers 

HAVING  decided  upon  a  plan,  the  next  thing  to 
be  considered  is  the  personal  agency  for  its 
administration. 

There  was  once  a  time,  if  we  may  believe  a  great 
many  tender  pastorals  and  madrigals  such  as  Kit 
Marlowe  sang,  when  there  were  milkmaids :  and  the 
sweetest  of  Overbury's  "  Characters "  is  his  little 
sketch  of  the  '  faire  damsel, '  who  hath  such  fingers 
"  that  in  milking  a  cow,  it  seemes  that  so  sweet  a 
milk-presse  makes  the  milk  the  whiter  or  sweeter." 
But  milkmaids  now-a-days  are  mostly  Connaught 
men,  in  cowhide  boots  and  black  satin  waistcoats, 
who  say  "  begorra,"  and  beat  the  cows  with  the 
milking  stool. 

Overbury  says  of  the  ancient  British  type — "  Her 
breath  is  her  own,  which  sents  all  the  yeare  long  of 
June,  like  a  newmade  haycock." 

And  I  may  say  of  the  present  representative — 
His  breath  is  his  own,  which  c  sents  all  the  yeare 
long '  of  proof  spirits,  like  a  newmade  still. 

Overbury  tenderly  says — "Thus  lives  she,  and  all 
her  care  is  she  may  die  in  the  spring  time,  to  have 
store  of  flowers  stucke  upon  her  winding  sheet." 

And  I,  as  pathetically  : — Thus  fares  he,  and  all 
4 


^4  MY  FARM. 

his  care  is  lie  may  get  his  full  wage,  and  a  good 
jollification  '  nixt  St.  Parthrick's  day. ' 

This  is  only  my  way  of  introducing  the  labor 
question,  which,  in  every  aspect,  is  a  serious  one  to 
a  party  entering  upon  the  management  of  country 
property.  If  such  party  is  anticipating  the  employ 
ment  of  one  of  Sir  Thomas  Overbury's  milk-maydes, 
or  of  the  pretty  damsel  who  sang  Marlowe's  song  to 
Izaak  Walton,  let  him  disabuse  his  mind.  In  place 
of  it  all,  he  will  sniff  boots  that  remind  of  a  damp 
cattle  yard,  and  listen  to  sharp  brogue  that  will  be  a 
souvenir  of  Donnybrook  Fair.  In  briefest  possible 
terms,  the  inferior  but  necessary  labor  of  a  farm 
must  be  performed  now,  in  the  majority  of  cases,  by 
the  most  inefficient  of  Americans,  or  by  the  rawest 
and  most  uncouth  of  Irish  or  Germans. 

There  lived  some  twenty  or  thirty  years  ago  in 
New  England,  a  race  of  men,  American  born,  and 
who,  having  gone  through  a  two  winters'  course  of 
district  school  ciphering  and  reading,  with  cropped 
tow  heads,  became  the  most  indefatigable  and  inge 
nious  of  farm  workers.  Their  hoeing  was  a  sleight  of 
hand ;  they  could  make  an  ox  yoke,  or  an  axe  helvo 
on  rainy  days  ;  by  adroit  manipulation,  they  could  re- 
lieve  a  choking  cow,  or  as  deftly,  hive  a  swarm  of  bees. 
Their  furrows  indeed  were  not  of  the  straightest,  but 
their  control  of  a  long  team  of  oxen  was  a  miracle 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  75 

of  guidance.  They  may  have  carried  a  bit  of  Caven 
dish  twist  in  their  waistcoat  pockets  ;  they  certainly 
did  not  waste  time  at  Javations ;  but  as  farm  workers 
they  had  rare  aptitude  ;  no  tool  came  amiss  to  them  ; 
they  cradled;  they  churned,  if  need  were;  they 
chopped  and  piled  their  three  cords  of  wood  between 
sun  and  sun.  With  bare  feet,  and  a  keen-whetted 
six-pound  Blanchard,  they  laid  such  clean  and  broad 
swaths  through  the  fields  of  dewy  herdsgrass, 
as  made  "  old-country-men  "  stare.  By  a  kind  of 
intuition,  they  knew  the  locality  of  every  tree,  and 
of  every  medicinal  herb  that  grew  in  the  woods. 
Rarest  of  all  which  they  possessed,  was  an  acuteness 
of  understanding,  which  enabled  them  to  comprehend 
an  order  before  it  was  half  uttered,  and  to  meet  occa 
sional  and  unforeseen  difficulties,  with  a  steady  assur 
ance,  as  if  they  had  been  an  accepted  part  of  the 
problem.  It  was  possible  to  send  such  a  man  into  a 
wood  with  .his  team,  to  select  a  stick  of  timber,  of 
chestnut  or  oak,  that  should  measure  a  given  amount ; 
he  could  be  trusted  to  find  such, — to  cut  it,  to  score  it, 
to  load  it ;  if  the  gearing  broke,  he  could  be  trusted 
to  mend  it ;  if  the  tree  lodged,  he  could  be  trusted  to 
dev  ise  some  artifice  for  bringing  it  down  ;  and  finally, 
• — for  its  sure  and  prompt  delivery  at  the  point  indi 
cated.  Your  Irishman,  on  the  other  hand,  balks  at 
the  first  tum  •  he  must  have  a  multitude  of  chains  ; 


76  MY  FARM. 

he  needs  a  boy  to  aid  him  with  the  team,  and  another 
to  cany  a  bar ;  he  spends  an  hour  in  his  doubtful 
estimate  of  dimensions ;  but  "  begorra,  its  a  lumpish 
tree,"  and  he  thwacks  into  the  rind  a  foot  or  two 
from  the  ground,  so  as  to  leave  a  '  nate '  Irish  stump. 
Half  through  the  bole,  he  begins  to  doubt  if  it  be 
indeed  a  chestnut  or  a  poplar;  and  casting  his  eye 
aloft  to  measure  it  anew,  an  ancient  woodpecker 
drops  something  smarting  in  his  eye  ;  and  his  howl 
starts  the  ruminating  team  into  a  confused  entangle 
ment  among  the  young  wood.  Having  eased  his 
pain,  and  extricated  his  cattle,  he  pushes  on  with  his 
axe,  and  presently,  with  a  light  crash  of  pliant 
boughs,  his  timber  is  lodged  in  the  top  of  an  adjoin 
ing  tree.  He  tugs,  and  strains,  and  swears,  and  splits 
the  helve  of  his  axe  in  adapting  it  for  a  lever,  and 
presently,  near  to  noon,  comes  back  for  three  or  four 
hands  to  give  him  a  boost  with  the  tree.  You  return 
— to  find  the  team  strayed  through  a  gate  left  open, 
into  a  thriving  cornfield,  and  one  of  your  pet  tulip 
trees  lodged  in  a  lithe  young  hickory. 

"  Och  !  and  it's  a  toolip— it  is !  and  I  was  thinkin' 
'twas  niver  a  chistnut ;  begorra,  it's  lucky  thin,  it 
didn't  come  down  intirely." 

These  and  other  such,  replace  the  New-Englander 
born,  who  long  ago  was  paid  off,  wrapped  his  savings 
in  a  dingy  piece  of  sheepskin,  scratched  his  head  re- 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  77 

flectingly,  and  disappeared  from  the  stage.  He  has 
become  the  father  of  a  race  that  is  hewing  its  way 
in  Oregon,  or  he  is  a  dignitary  in  Wisconsin,  or 
thwacking  terribly  among  the  foremost  fighters  of 
the  war. 

Here  and  there  remains  an  aged  representative 
of  the  class,  with  all  his  nasal  twang  and  his  apti 
tude  for  a  score  of  different  services  ;  but  the  chances 
are,  if  he  has  failed  of  placing  himself  in  the  legis 
lative  chambers  of  the  West,  or  of  holding  ownership 
of  some  rough  farm  of  his  own,  that  he  has  some 
moral  obliquity  which  makes  him  an  outcast. 

Certain  it  is,  that  very  few  native  Americans  of 
activity  and  of  energy  are  to  be  decoyed  into  the 
traces  of  farm  labor,  unless  they  can  assume  the  full 
direction.  American  blood  is  fast,  and  fast  blood  is 
impatient  with  a  hoe  among  small  carrots.  It  is  well, 
perhaps,  that  blood  is  so  fast,  and  hopes  so  tall. 
These  tell  grandly  in  certain  directions,  but  they  are 
not  available  for  working  over  a  heap  of  compost. 
The  American  eagle  is  (or  was)  a  fine  bird,  but  ho 
does  not  consume  grasshoppers  like  a  turkey. 

In  view  of  the  fact  that  dexterous  labor  is  not 
now  available,  there  is  a  satisfaction  in  knowing  that 
the  necessity  for  it  is  year  by  year  diminishing, 
Upon  the  old  system  of  growing  all  that  a  man 
might  need  within  his  own  grounds,  a  proper  fa  ITU 


78  MY  FARM. 

education  embraced  a  considerable  knowledge  of  a 
score  of  different  crops  and  avocations.  The  tend 
ency  is  now,  however,  to  centralize  attention  upon 
that  line  of  cropping  which  is  best  suited  to  the  land ; 
this  limits  the  range  of  labor,  while  the  improved 
mechanical  appliances  fill  a  thousand  wants,  which 
were  once  only  to  be  met  by  a  dexterous  handicraft 
at  home.  None  but  a  few  weazen-faced  old  gentle 
men  of  a  very  ancient  school,  think  now-a-days  of 
making  their  own  ox  yokes  or  their  own  cheese  presses ; 
or,  if  their  crop  be  large,  of  pounding  out  their  grain 
with  a  flail.  And  it  is  noticeable  in  this  connection, 
that  the  implements  in  the  use  of  which  the  native 
workers  were  most  unmatchable,  are  precisely  the  ones 
which  in  practical  farming  are  growing  less  and  less 
important  every  year ;  to  wit,  the  axe  and  the  scythe : 
the  first  being  now  confined  mostly  to  clearings  of 
timber,  and  the  second  is  fast  becoming  merely  a 
garden  implement  for  the  dressing  of  lawns. 

I  perceive,  very  clearly,  from  all  this,  that  I  am 
not  to  be  brought  in  contact  with  a  race  of  Arcadians. 
Melibceus  will  not  do  the  milking,  nor  Tityrus, — 
though  there  shall  be  plenty  of  snoozing  under  the 
beech  trees.  It  is  also  lamentably  true  that  the  un 
couth  and  unkempt  Irish  or  Germans,  whom  it  be 
comes  necessary  to  employ,  place  no  pride  or  love  in 
their  calling  like  the  English  farm  laborers,  or  lik« 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  79 

chat  gone-by  stock  of  New  England  farm  workers  at 
idiom  I  have  hinted. 

Your  Irish  friend  may  be  a  good  reaper,  he  may 
possibly  be  a  respectabla  ploughman  (though  it  is 
quite  doubtful)  ;  but  in  no  event  will  he  cherish  any 
engrossing  attachment  to  country  labors  ;  nor  will  he 
come  to  have  any  pride  in  the  successes  that  may 
grow  out  of  them. 

Every  month  he  is  ready  to  drift  away  toward  any 
employment  which  will  bring  increase  of  pay.  He  is 
your  factotum  to-day,  and  to-morrow  may  be  shoul 
dering  a  hod,  or  scraping  hides  for  a  soap  boiler. 
The  German,  too,  however  accomplished  a  worker 
he  may  become,  falls  straightway  into  the  same 
American  passion  of  unrest,  and  becomes  presently 
the  dispenser  of  lager  bier,  or  a  forager  "  mit  Sigel." 

There  is  then  no  American  class  of  farm  workers 
in  the  market — certainly  not  in  the  Eastern  markets. 
The  native,  if  he  possess  rural  instincts,  is  engrossed, 
as  I  have  said,  with  some  homestead  of  his  own,  or 
is  trying  his  seed-cast  among  the  Mormons,  or  on 
the  prairies.  All  other  parties  bring  only  a  divided 
allegiance,  and  a  kind  of  makeshift  adhesion  to  the 
business ;  in  addition  to  which,  they  bring  an  imio- 
cency  that  demands  the  supervision  of  a  good  farm 
teacher. 

Such  a  teacher  your  foreman  may  be,  or  he  may 


80  MY  FARM. 

not  be  ;  if  the  latter,  and  he  have  no  capacity  to  cou« 
vert  into  available  workers,  such  motley  mateiials, 
the  sooner  you  discharge  him  the  better ;  but  if  he 
have  this  capacity,  and  is,  besides,  so  far  cognizant  of 
your  ownership,  as  not  to  take  offence  at  your  pres 
ence,  and  to  permit  of  your  suggestions — cherish 
him  ;  he  has  rare  virtues. 

From  the  hints  I  have  already  dropped  in  regard 
to  the  qualities  and  characteristics  of  the  available 
"  milkmaids "  and  ploughmen,  it  will  naturally  be 
inferred  that  I  would  not  be  anxious  to  entertain  a 
large  squad  of  such,  under  the  low-browed  ceilings 
of  the  country  home  I  have  described. 

And  here  comes  under  observation  that  romanti 
cism  about  equality  of  condition  and  of  tastes,  which 
many  kindly  and  poetically-disposed  persons  are  in 
clined  to  engraft  upon  their  ideal  of  the  farm  life. 
There  is,  indeed,  a  current  misjudgment  on  this  head, 
which  is  quite  common,  and  which  the  exaggerated 
tone  of  rural  literature  generally,  from  Virgil  down, 
has  greatly  encouraged.  The  rural  writers  dodge  all 
the  dirty  work  of  the  farm,  and  regale  us  with  thn 
odors  of  the  new-mown  hay.  The  plain  truth  is, 
however,  that  if  a  man  perspires  largely  in  a  corn 
field  of  a  dusty  day,  and  washes  hastily  in  the  horse 
trough,  and  eats  in  shirt  sleeves  that  date  their  cleanli 
ness  three  days  back,  and  loves  fat  pork  and  cabbage 


TAKING   REINS  IN  HAND.          .          81 

"  uoat,"  he  will  not  prove  the  Arcadian  companion  at 
dinner,  which  readers  of  Somerville  imagine, — neither 
on  the  score  of  conversation,  or  of  transpiration. 
Active,  every-day  farm  labor  is  certainly  not  congru« 
01  is  with  a  great  many  of  those  cleanly  prejudices 
which  grow  out  of  the  refinements  of  civilization. 
We  must  face  the  bald  truth  in  this  matter ;  a  man 
who  has  only  an  hour  to  his  nooning,  will  not  squan 
der  it  upon  toilet  labors  ;  and  a  long  day  of  close 
field-work  leaves  one  in  very  unfit  mood  for  apprecia 
tive  study  of  either  poetry  or  the  natural  sciences. 

The  pastoral  idea, — set  off  with  fancies  of  earth 
en  bowls,  tables  under  trees,  and  appetites  that  are 
sated  with  bread  and  milk,  or  crushed  berries  and 
sugar,  and  with  the  kindred  fancies  of  rural  swains, 
wrho  can  do  a  good  day's  work  and  keep  their  linen 
clean, — is  all  a  most  wretched  phantasm.  Pork,  and 
cabbage,  and  dirty  wristbands,  are  the  facts. 

Plainly,  the  milkmaids  must  have  a  home  to  them- 
eelves,  where  no  dreary  etiquette  shall  oppress  them. 
This  home,  which  is  properly  the  farmer's,  lies  some 
eighth  of  a  mile  southward,  upon  the  same  highway 
that  passes  my  door.  For  a  few  rods  the  road  keeps 
upon  a  gravelly  ridge,  from  which,  eastward,  stretches 
away  the  wide-reaching  view  I  have  already  rioted ; 
and  westward,  in  as  full  sight,  is  the  little  valley 
lawn,  where  the  shadows  of  the  copses  lie  splintered 
4* 


82  MY  FARM. 

on  the  green.     So  it  is,  for  a  breathing  space  of  level , 
then  the  gravelly  road  makes  sudden  plunge  under  a 
thicket  of  trees ;  a  rustic  culvert  is  crossed,  which  is 
the  wasteway  of  the  pool  at  the' foot  of  the  lawn  ; 
and  opposite  on  a  gentle  lift  of  turf,  all  overshad 
owed  with  trees,  is  the  farmery.     Here,  as  before 
described,  were  outlying  sheds,  and   leaning  gables, 
and  a  wreck  of  castaway  ploughs  and  carts  ;  and  the 
scene  alive  with  the  cluck  of  matronly  hens,  conduct 
ing  broods  of  gleesome  chickens,  and  with  the  side 
long  waddle  of  a  bevy  of  ducks,     I  have  a  recollec 
tion,  too,  of  certain  long-necked  turkeys,  who  eyed 
me  curiously  on  my  first  visit,  with  an  oblique  twist 
of  their  heads,  and   of    a  red-tasselled   Tom,   who 
sounded  a  gobble  of  alarm,  as  I  marched  upon  the 
premises,  and  met  me  with  a  formidable  strut.     These 
birds  are  very  human.     I  never  go.  to  the  town  but  I 
see  men  who  remind  me  of  the  gobblers  ;  and  I  never 
see  my  gobblers  but  they  remind  me  pleasantly  of 
men  in  the  town. 

Immediately  beyond  the  gates,  which  opened  upon 
the  farmery,  was  a  quaint  square  box  of  red  trimmed 
off  with  white  (whose  old-fashioned  coloring  I  main- 
tain),  being  a  tenant  house  of  most  venerable  age, 
and  standing  in  the  middle  of  a  wild  and  ragged 
garden.  The  road  has  made  two  easy  curves  up  to 
this  point,  and  skirts  a  great  hill  that  rises  boldly  on 


TAKING  KEINS  IN  HAND.  83 

the  right ;  on  the  left,  and  beyond  the  red  tenant 
house  with  its  clustering  lilacs,  and  shading  maples, 
is  a  mossy  orchard ;  and  with  the  mossy  orchard  on 
the  left,  and  the  sudden  hills  piling  to  the  right,  the 
border  of  the  land  is  reached. 

The  wooden  farmhouse,  which  lay  so  quietly 
under  the  trees,  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  when  I  first 
saw  the  place,  is  long  since  burned  and  gone.  It  was 
the  old  story  of  ashes  in  a  wooden  kit — very  lively 
ashes,  that  one  night  kindled  the  kit,  and  thence 
spread  to  the  shed,  and  in  a  moment  half  the  house 
was  in  flame.  It  was  a  picturesque  sight  from  my 
window  on  the  hill ;  but  not  a  pleasant  one.  A  wild, 
sweeping,  gallant  blaze,  that  wrapped  old  powder- 
post  timbers  in  its  roar,  and  licked  through  crashing 
sashes,  and  came  crinkling  through  the  roof  in  a  hun 
dred  wilful  jets,  and  then  lashed  and  overlaid  the 
whole  with  a  tent  of  vermilion,  above  which  there 
streamed  into  the  night  great,  yellow,  swaying  pen 
nants  of  flame.  But  the  burnt  house  is  long  since 
replaced  by  another.  It  would  have  been  a  simple 
and  easy  task  to  restore  it  as  before :  a  few  loads  of 
lumber,  the  scheme  of  some  country  joiner,  and  the 
thing  were  done.  But  I  was  anxious  to  determine  by 
actual  trial  how  far  the  materials  which  nature  had 
provided  on  the  farm  itself,  could  be  made  available. 

The  needed  timber  could,  of  course,  be  readily 


84  MY  FARM. 

obtained  from  the  farm  wood ;  and  from  the  same 
source  might  also  be  derived  the  saw  logs  for  exterior 
covering.  But  from  the  fact  that  pine  is  very  much 
more  suitable  and  durable  for  cover,  than  the  ordi 
nary  timber  of  New  England  woods,  the  economy  of 
such  a  procedure  would  be  very  doubtful ;  nor  would 
it  demonstrate  so  palpably  and  unmistakably,  as  I 
was  desirous  of  doing,  that  the  building  was  of  home 
growth.  I  had  seen  very  charming  little  farmhouses 
on  the  Downs  of  Hampshire,  made  almost  entirely 
from  the  flints  of  tne  neighboring  chalkbeds  ;  and  in 
Cumberland  and  Westmoreland  very  substantial  and 
serviceable  cottages  are  built  out  of  the  rudest  stones, 
the  farm  laborers  assisting  in  the  work.  Now,  there 
were,  scattered  along  the  roadside,  as  along  most 
country  roadsides  of  New  England,  a  great  quantity 
of  small,  ill-shapen  stones,  drawn  thither  in  past  years 
from  the  fields,  and  serving  only  as  the  breeding 
ground  for  pestilent  briars.  These  stones  I  deter- 
mined  to  convert  into  a  cottage. 

Of  course,  if  such  an  experiment  should  involve  a 
cost  largely  exceeding  that  of  a  simple  wooden  house 
of  ordinary  construction,  its  value  would  be  partially 
negatived ;  since  I  was  particularly  anxious  to  demon- 
sti  ate  not  only  the  possibility  of  employing  the  humblest 
materials  at  hand,  but  also  of  securing  durability  and 
picturesqueness  in  conjunction  with  a  rigid  economy. 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  85 

I  need  not  say  to  any  one  who  has  attempted  a 
similar  task,  that  the  builders  discouraged  me :  the 
stones  were  too  round  or  too  small ;  they  had  no 
face ;  but  I  insisted  upon  my  plan — only  yielding 
the  use  of  bricks  for  the  corners,  and  for  the  window 
jambs. 

I  further  insisted  that  no  stone  should  be  touched 
with  a  hammer ;  and  that,  so  far  as  feasible,  the  mossy 
or  weather  sides  of  the  stones  should  be  exposed. 
The  cementing  material  was  simple  mortar,  made  of 
shell  lime  and  sharp  sand ;  the  only  exception  being 
one  course  of  five  or  six  inches  in  depth,  laid  in  water 
cement,  six  inches  above  the  ground,  and  intended  to 
prevent  the  ascent  of  moisture  through  the  mason 
work.  The  house  walls  were  of  the  uniform  height 
of  ten  feet,  covered  with  a  roof  of  sharp  pitch.  The 
gables  were  carried  up  with  plank  laid  on  vertically, 
and  thoroughly  battened ;  and  to  give  picturesque 
effect  as  well  as  added  space  upon  the  garret  floor, 
the  gables  overhang  the  walls  by  the  space  of  a  foot, 
and  are  supported  by  the  projecting  floor  beams, 
which  are  rounded  at  their  ends,  but  otherwise  left 
rough.  This  feature,  as  well  as  the  sharp  pent  roof, 
was  an  English  one,  and  a  pleasant  reminder  of  old 
houses  I  had  seen  in  the  neighborhood  of  Gloucester. 

To  avoid  the  expense  of  a  great  number  of  win 
dow  jambs,  which,  being  of  brick,  were  not  of  home 


86  MY  FARM. 

origin,  I  conceived  the  idea  of  throwing  two  or  three 
windows  into  one ;  thus  giving,  for  purely  economic 
reasons,  a  certain  Swiss  aspect  to  the  building,  and  a 
pleasant  souvenir  of  a  sunny  Sunday  in  Meyringen. 
These  broad  windows,  it  must  be  observed,  have  no 
cumbrous  lintels  of  stone — for  none  such  were  to  be 
found  upon  the  farm ;  but  the  superincumbent  wall  is 
supported  by  stanch  timbers  of  oak,  and  these  dis 
guised  or  concealed  by  little  protecting  rooflets  of 
plank.  Thus  far,  simple  economy  governed  every 
part  of  the  design ;  but  to  give  increased  architectural 
effect,  as  well  as  comfort,  a  porch,  with  peak  corre 
sponding  in  shape  to  the  gable,  was  thrown  out  over 
the  principal  door  to  the  south ;  and  this  porch  was 
constructed  entirely,  saving  its  roof,  of  cedar  un- 
stripped  of  its  bark.  If  it  has  not  been  removed, 
there  is  a  parsonage  house  at  Ambleside  in  the  lake 
country  of  Westmoreland,  which  shows  very  much 
such  another,  even  to  the  diamond  loophole  in  its 
peak. 

Again,  the  chimneys,  of  which  there  are  two, 
instead  of  being  completed  in  staring  red,  were  car 
ried  up  in  alternate  aheckers  of  cobbles  and  brick, 
the  whole  surmounted  by  a  projecting  coping  of 
mossy  stones.  In  view  of  the  fact  that  this  architec 
tural  device  demanded  dexterous  handling,  I  cannot 
allege  its  economy ;  but  its  extra  cost  was  so  trifling, 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  87 

and  its  pleasant  juxtaposition  of  tints  was  so  sugges« 
tive  of  the  particolored  devices  that  I  had  seen  on 
the  country  houses  of  Lombardy,  that  the  chimneys 
have  become  cheap  little  monuments  of  loiterings  in 
Italy. 

The  plank  of  the  gables,  wholly  unplaned,  has 
been  painted  a  neutral  tint  to  harmonize  with  the 
stone,  and  the  battens  are  white,  to  accord  with  the 
lines  of  mortar  in  the  wall  below ;  the  commingled 
brick  and  stone  of  the  house,  are  repeated  in  the 
chimneys  above ;  the  roof  has  now  taken  on  a  gray 
tint ;  the  lichens  are  fast  forming  on  the  lower 
stones ;  a  few  vines, — the  Virginia  creeper  chiefest 
(Ampelopsis  Hederacea), — are  fastening  into  the  crev 
ices,  making  wreaths  about  the  windows  all  the 
summer  through,  and  in  autumn  hang  flaming  on  the 
wall.  There  is  a  May  crimson,  too,  from  the  rose 
bushes  that  are  trailed  upon  the  porch.  It  is  all 
heavily  shaded ;  a  long,  low  wall  of  gray,  lighted  with 
red-bordered  embrasures,  taking  mellowness  from 
every  added  year;  there  are  no  blinds  to  repair; 
there  is  but  little  paint  to  renew ;  it  is  warm  in  win 
ter  ;  it  is  cool  in  summer ;  vines  cling  to  it  kindly ; 
the  lichens  love  it ;  I  would  not  replace  its  homeliness 
with  the  jauntiest  green-blinded  house  in  the  country. 

Of  course  so  anomalous  a  structure  called  out  the 
witticisms  of  my  country  neighbors.  "  Was  it  a 


88  MY  FARM. 

blacksmith's  shop  ?  "  "  Was  it  a  saw  mill  ?  "  and  with 
a  loud  appreciatory  "  guffaw  "  the  critics  pass  by. 

Our  country  tastes  are  as  yet  very  ambitious ; 
homeliness  and  simplicity  are  not  appetizing  enough. 
But  in  time  we  shall  ripen  into  a  wholesome  seventy, 
in  this  matter.  I  am  gratified  to  perceive  that  the 
harshest  observers  of  my  poor  cottage  in  the  begin* 
ning,  have  now  come  to  regard  it  with  a  kindly  inter 
est.  It  mates  so  fairly  with  the  landscape, — it  mates 
so  fairly  with  its  purpose ;  it  is  so  resolutely  unpre 
tending,  and  carries  such  air  of  permanence  and  dura 
bility,  that  it  wins  and  has  won  upon  the  most  arrant 
doubters. 

The  country  neighbors  were  inclined  to  look  upon 
the  affair  as  a  piece  of  stupidity,  not  comparable  with 
a  fine  white  house,  set  off  by  cupola  and  green  blinds. 
But  it  was  presently  observed  that  cultivated  people 
from  the  town,  in  driving  past,  halted  for  a  better 
view ;  the  halts  became  frequent ;  it  was  intimated 
that  So-and-so,  of  high  repute,  absolutely  admired  the 
homeliness.  Whereupon  the  country  critics  under 
took  an  inquiry  into  the  causes  of  their  distaste,  and 
queried  if  their  judgment  might  not  have  need  of 
revision.  Did  their  opinion  spring  from  a  discerning 
measurement  of  the  real  fitness  of  a  country  house, 
or  out  of  a  cherished  and  traditional  regard  for  white 
q,nd  green  ? 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  89 

The  final  question,  however,  in  regard  to  it,  as  a 
matter  of  practical  interest,  is  one  of  economy.  Can 
a  house  of  the  homely  material  and  character  de 
scribed  be  built  cheaply  ?  Unquestionably.  In  my 
own  case  the  cost  of  a  cottage  fifty  feet  by  twenty-six, 
and  with  ten-feet  walls — containing  five  serviceable 
rooms,  besides  closets  on  its  main  floor,  and  two  largo 
chambers  of  good  height  under  the  roof,  as  w^ell  as 
dairy  room  in  the  east  end  of  the  cellar — was  be 
tween  eleven  and  twelve  hundred  dollars.  The  esti 
mates  given  me  for  a  wooden  house,  of  the  stereo 
typed  aspect  and  similar  dimensions,  were  within  a 
few  dollars  of  the  same  sum. 

It  must  be  remembered,  however,  that  any  novelty 
of  construction  in  a  particular  district,  costs  by  reason 
of  its  novelty ;  the  mason,  too,  charges  for  the  possi 
ble  difficulties  of  overcoming  his  inexperience  in  the 
material.  The  carpenter  rates  the  rough  joining  at 
the  same  figure  with  the  old  mouldings  and  finishing 
boards,  to  which  he  is  accustomed,  and  of  which  he 
may  have  a  stock  on  hand.  Yet,  notwithstanding 
these  drawbacks,  the  work  was  accomplished  within 
the  limits  of  cost  which  the  most  economic  would 
have  reckoned  essential  to  a  building  of  equal  capa 
city. 

It  is  further  to  be  considered  that  while  I  paid 
skilful  masons  for  this  rough  work  the  same  price 


00  MY  FARM. 

which  they  exacted  for  the  nice  work  of  cities,  it 
would  have  been  quite  possible  for  an  intelligent  pro 
prietor  to  commit  very  much  of  it  to  an  ordinary  farm 
laborer,  and  so  reduce  the  cost  by  at  least  one  third. 

I  have  dwelt  at  length  upon  this  little  architectural 
experience,  because  I  believe  that  such  meagre  details 
of  construction  as  I  have  given  may  be  of  service  to 
those  having  occasion  to  erect  similar  tenant  houses ; 
and  again,  because  in  view  of  the  fact  that  we  must 
in  time  have  a  race  of  farm  laborers  among  us,  who 
shall  also  be  householders,  I  count  it  a  duty  to  make 
such  use  of  the  homely  materials  at  hand,  as  shall 
insure  durability  and  comfort,  while  the  simplicity 
of  detail  will  allow  the  owner  to  avail  himself  of  his 
own  labor  and  ingenuity,  in  the  construction. 

A  Sunny  Frontage. 

SUCH  a  farmhouse  as  I  have  described,  should 
have,  in  all  northern  latitudes,  a  sheltered  position 
and  a  sunny  exposure.  Of  course,  a  situation  conve 
nient  to  the  fields  under  tillage,  and  to  other  farm 
buildings,  is  to  be  sought ;  but  beyond  this,  no  law 
of  propriety,  of  good  taste,  or  of  comfort,  is  more  im 
perative  than  shelter  from  bleak  winds,  and  a  frontage 
to  the  south.  No  neighbor  can  bring  such  cheer  to 
a  man's  doorstep  as  the  sun. 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  91 

There  are  absurd  ideas  afloat  in  regard  to  the  front, 
and  back  side  of  a  house,  which  infect  village  morals 
and  manners  in  a  most  base  and  unmeaning  way.  In 
half  the  country  towns,  and  by  half  the  farmers,  it  is 
considered  necessary  to  retain  a  pretending  front 
side  upon  some  dusty  street  or  highway,  with  tightly 
closed  blinds  and  bolted  door;  with  parlors*  only 
ventured  upon  in  an  uneasy  way  from  month  to 
month,  to  consult  some  gilt-bound  dictionary,  or  Mu 
seum,  that  lies  there  in  state,  like  a  king's  coffin.  The 
occupant,  meantime,  will  be  living  in  some  back  cor 
ner, — slipping  in  and  out  at  back  doors,  never  at  ease 
save  in  his  most  uninviting  room,  and  as  much  a 
stranger  to  the  blinded  parlor,  which  very  likely  en 
grosses  the  best  half  of  his  house,  as  his  visitor,  the 
country  parson.  All  this  is  as  arrant  a  sham,  and 
affectation,  as  the  worst  ones  of  the  cities. 

It  is  true  that  every  man  will  wish  to  set  aside  a 
certain  portion  of  his  house  for  the  offices  of  hospi 
tality.  But  the  easy  and  familiar  hospitalities  of  a 
country  village,  or  of  the  farmer,  do  not  call  for  any 
exceptional  stateliness ;  the  farmer  invites  his  best 
friends  to  his  habitual  living  room  ;  let  him  see  to  it 
then  that  his  living  room  be  the  sunniest,  and  most 
cheerful  of  his  house.  So,  his  friends  will  come  to 
love  it,  and  he,  and  his  children — to  love  it  and  to 
cherish  it,  so  that  it  shall  be  the  rallying  point  of  the 


92  MY  FARM. 

household  affections  through  all  time.  No  sea  so  dis 
tant,  but  the  memory  of  a  cheery,  sunlit  home-room, 
with  its  pictures  on  the  wall,  and  its  flame  upon  the 
hearth,  shall  haunt  the  voyager's  thought ;  and  the 
flame  upon  the  hearth,  and  the  sunlit  window,  will 
pave  a  white  path  over  the  intervening  waters,  where 
tenderest  fancies,  like  angels,  shall  come  and  go.  No 
soldier,  wounded  on  these  battle  fields  of  ours,  and 
feeling  the  mists  of  death  gathering  round  him,  but 
will  call  back  with  a  gushing  fondness  such  glimpse 
of  a  cheery  and  cherished  hearthstone,  and  feel  hope 
and  heart  lighted  by  the  vision — bringing  to  his  last 
hold  on  earth  his  most  hallowed  memories ;  and  so, 
binding  by  the  tenderest  of  links,  the  heartiest  of  the 
Old  life,  to  the  bloody  dawn  of  the  New. 

There  is  a  deeper  philosophy  in  this  than  may  at 
first  sight  appear.  Who  shall  tell  us  how  many  a 
breakdown  of  a  wayward  son,  is  traceable  to  the 
cheerless  aspect  of  his  own  home,  and  fireside  ? 

But  just  now  I  am  no  moralist — only  houscbuild- 
er.  In  the  farm  cottage,  whose  principal  features  I 
have  detailed,  I  have  given  fifty  feet  of  frontage  td 
the  south,  and  only  the  gable  end,  with  its  windows, 
to  the  street.  As  I  enter  the  white  wicket  by  the 
corner,  under  the  elm  tree  which  bowers  it,  the  distri 
bution  counts  thus  :  a  miniature  parlor  with  its  look 
out  to  the  street,  and  a  broad  window  to  the  south ; 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  93 

next  is  the  rustic  porch,  and  a  door  opening  upon  the 
hall ;  next,  a  broad  living-room  or  kitchen,  with  its 
generous  chimney,  and  this  flanked  by  a  wash  room, 
or  scullery,  from  which  &  second  outer  door  opens 
upon  the  southern  front.  To  this  latter  door,  which 
may  have  its  show  of  tubs,  tins,  and  drying  mops,  a 
screen  of  shrubbery  gives  all  needed  privacy  from  the 
street,  and  separates  by  a  wall  of  flowering  things 
from  the  modest  pretensions  of  the  entrance  by  the 
porch.  At  least,  such  was  an  available  part  of  the 
design.  If  the  good  woman's  poultry,  loving  so  sunny 
a  spot,  will  worry  away  the  rootlets  of  the  lower 
flowering  shrubs,  and  leave  only  a  tree  or  two  for 
screen,  it  is  an  arrangement  of  the  leafy  furniture, 
over  which  the  successive  occupants  have  entire  con 
trol.  The  noticeable  fact  is,  that  the  best  face  of  the 
cottage,  and  its  most  serviceable  openings,  whether 
of  window  or  door,  are  given  to  the  full  flow  of  the 
sun,  and  not  to  the  road  side.  What  is  the  road 
indeed,  but  a  convenience  ?  Why  build  at  it,  or 
toward  it,  as  if  it  were  sovereign,  or  as  if  we  owed  it 
a  duty  or  a  reverence  ?  We  owe  it  none ;  indeed, 
under  the  ordering  of  most  highway  surveyors,  we 
owe  it  only  contempt.  But  the  path  of  the  sun,  and 
of  the  seasons,  is  of  God's  ordering ;  and  a  south  win 
dow  will  print  on  every  winter's  morning  a  golden 
prayer  upon  the  floor ;  and  every  summer's  morning 


94  MY  FARM.  ' 

the  birds  and  bees  will  repeat  it,  among  the  flowers  at 
the  southern  door. 


Farm  Buildings. 

HAYING  looked  after  the  farm  cottage,  I  come 
now  to  speak  of  the  equally  homely  subject  of 
barns  and  outbuildings.  Of  these,  such  as  they  were, 
I  found  abundance  upon  the  premises,  standing  at  all 
imaginable  angles,  and  showing  that  extraordinary 
confusion  of  arrangement  for  which  many  of  our  old- 
fashioned  farmers  have  a  wonderful  aptitude.  Should 
they  all  be  swept  away,  and  a  new  company  of  build 
ings  erected  ?  The  stanch  timbers  and  the  serviceable 
condition  of  many  of  them  forbade  this,  as  well  as 
considerations  of  prudence.  Besides  which,  I  have  no 
admiration  for  that  incongruity  which  often  appears 
at  the  hands  of  those  who  are  suddenly  smitten  with 
a  love  for  the  country — of  expensive  and  jaunty  farm 
architecture  in  contrast  with  a  dilapidated  farm.  I 
believe  in  a  well-conditioned  harmony  between  farm 
products  and  the  roofs  that  shelter  them,  and  that 
both  should  gain  extent  and  fulness,  by  orderly  pro 
gression.  It  has  chanced  to  me  to  see  here  and  there 
through  the  country  very  admirable  appliances  of 
machinery  and  buildings,  which,  on  the  score  of  both 
cost  and  needfulness,  were  out  of  all  proportion  to  the 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  95 

fertility  and  the  order  of  the  fields.  I  see,  too,  not 
un frequently,  very  showy  palings  in  the  neighbor 
hood  of  a  country  house,  which  are  flanked  by  the 
craziest  of  slatternly  fences  ;  whereat  it  always  occurs 
to  me,  that  the  expenditure  would  be  far  better  dis 
tributed  in  giving  a  general  neatness  and  effectiveness 
to  all  the  enclosures,  rather  than  lavished  upon  a  little 
spurt  of  white  splendor  about  the  house.  A  fertility 
too  gross  for  the  buildings,  so  as  to  bubble  over  in 
ricks  and  temporary  appliances,  is  to  me  a  far  more 
cheery  sight  agriculturally,  than  buildings  so  grand  as 
utterly  to  outmatch  and  overshadow  all  productive 
capacity  of  the  land.  A  kernel  too  big  for  the  nut, 
promises  to  my  taste  a  better  relish  than  a  nut  too  big 
for  the  kernel. 

These  seem  to  me,  at  the  worst,  very  plausible 
reasons,  if  there  had  been  no  final,  prudential  ones, 
for  making  the  fcest  of  the  old  buildings  at  hand — by 
re-arrangement,  new  grouping,  and  by  shutting  up 
such  gaps  between  the  disjointed  parts,  as  should 
reduce  the  whole  to  a  quadrangular  order,  and  offer 
sunny  courts  for  the  cattle. 

If  a  sunny  exposure,  and  grateful  shelter  from 
harsh  winds  be  good  for  the  temper  of  the  farm  wife 
and  her  household,  they  are  even  better  for  all  the 
domestic  animals ;  and  it  is  an  imperative  condition 
of  the  arrangement  of  all  farm  buildings  in  our  cli- 


96  MY  FARM. 

mate  that  they  offer  a  sheltering  lee,  and  have  their 
principal  openings,  specially  of  windows,  to  the  south. 
Protection  against  summer  heats,  if  needed  for  stalled 
animals,  it  is  easy  to  supply ;  but  an  equivalent  for 
the  warmth  of  the  winter's  sun,  I  know  no  name  for. 

Another  condition  of  all  judicious  arrangement, 
which  is  even  more  important,  is  such  disposition  of 
the  yards  and  cellars,  as  shall  prevent  all  waste  of  ma- 
nurial  resources  of  whatever  kind,  whether  by  undue 
exposure,  or  by  leakage.  And  in  this  connection,  I 
may  mention  that  it  is  a  question  seriously  mooted, 
and  worthy  of  full  investigation — if  the  fertilizing 
material  of  a  farm  will  not  warrant  special  shelter  as 
fully  as  the  crops.  All  experience  certainly  confirms 
the  fact  that  such  as  is  taken  from  under  cover,  pro 
vided  only  the  moisture  is  sufficient,  is  worth  the 
double  of  that  which  has  been  exposed  to  storms. 
What  chemical  laws  relating  to  agriculture  confirm 
this  fact,  I  may  have  occasion  to  speak  of  in  another 
chapter ;  at  present  I  note  only  the  results  of  practical 
observation,  without  reference  to  underlying  causes. 

The  books  would  have  recommended  me  to  con 
struct  an  extensive  tank,  to  which  drains  should  con 
duct  all  the  wash  from  the  courts  and  stables.  But 
this  would  involve  water  carts,  and  other  appliances, 
liable  to  injury  under  rough  handling ;  besides  de 
manding  a  nicety  of  tillage,  and  a  regularity  of  dis- 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  97 

tribution  which,  at  first,  could  not  be  depended  on, 
That  the  liquid  form  is  the  one,  under  which  manurial 
material  under  a  complete  system  of  culture,  will  work 
the  most  magical  results,  I  have  no  doubt.  But  until 
that  system  is  reached,  very  much  can  be  done  in  the 
way  of  economizing  the  fertilizing  elements  of  the 
farmyard,  short  of  the  tank  and  the  water  cart ;  and 
this  by  modes  so  simple,  and  at  an  expense  so  small, 
as  to  be  within  the  reach  of  every  farmer. 

Let  me  illustrate,  in  the  plainest  possible  manner, 
by  my  own  experience.  The  barn,  as  I  have  said, 
was  slatternly ;  it  had  yielded  a  little  to  the  pinching 
northwesters,  and  by  a  list  (as  seamen  say)  to  the  south 
east,  gave  threat  of  tumbling  upon  the  cattle  yard. 
This  yard  lay  easterly  and  southerly,  in  a  ragged, 
stony  slope,  ending  on  its  eastern  edge  with  a  quag 
mire,  which  was  fed  by  the  joint  wash  of  the  yard 
and  the  leakage  of  a  water  trough  supplied  from  a 
spring  upon  the  hills.  The  flow  from  this  quagmire, 
unctuous  and  fattening,  slid  away  down  a  long  slope 
into  the  meadow, — at  first  so  strong,  as  to  forbid  all 
growth  ;  then  feeding  an  army  of  gigantic  docks  and 
burdocks ;  and  after  this  giving  luxuriant  growth  to 
a  perch  or  two  of  stout  English  grass.  But  it  was  a 
waste  of  wealth ;  it  was  like  a  private,  staggering 
under  the  rations  of  a  major-general.  I  cut  off  the 

rations.     With  the  stones  which  were  in  and  about 
5 


98  MY  FARM. 

the  yard,  1  converted  its  lazy  slope  into  two  level 
courts ;  and  so  arranged  the  surface,  that  the  flow 
from  the  upper  should  traverse  the  lower  one ;  from 
which,  in  turn,  the  joint  flow  of  fertilizing  material 
fell  through  a  few  tiles  in  the  lower  terrace  wall,  upon 
the  head  of  a  long  heap  of  compost,  which  was  or 
dered  to  be  always  replaced,  as  soon  as  removed. 
The  leakage  of  the  water  trough  being  cured,  its 
overflow  was  conducted  to  the  pasture  below,  where 
the  second  overflow, — for  the  stream  was  constantly 
running, — would  do  no  injury,  and  would  be  available 
as  a  foraging  mudpool  for  the  ducks.  By  this  sim 
ple  re-adjustment  of  surface,  and  of  the  water  flow,  I 
have  no  question  but  I  fully  doubled  the  yearly  value 
of  the  manures. 

I  still  further  mended  matters  by  carrying  the 
cow  stables  along  all  the  northern  frontier  of  the 
yard,  in  such  sort  as  to  afford  an  ample  sunny  lee ; 
and  extending  this  new  pile  of  building  over  the 
eastern  terrace  wall,  I  gained  an  open  cellar  below  for 
my  store  pigs,  who  range  over  the  ground  where  the 
burdocks  so  thrived  before,  with  occasional  furtive 
examinations  of  the  compost  heap  which  receives  the 
flow  from  above. 

I  do  not  name  this  disposition  of  buildings  and  of 
surfaces,  as  one  to  be  copied,  or  as  the  one  which  I 
should  have  chosen  to  make,  in  the  event  of  a  thor- 


TAKING   REINS  IN  HAND.  99 

ough  reconstruction  ;  but  only  as  one  of  those  simple, 
feasible  improvements  of  the  old  conditions  which 
are  met  with  everywhere ;  improvements,  moreover, 
which  involve  little  or  no  cost,  beyond  the  farmer's 
own  labor,  and  no  commitment  to  the  theories  of 
Mechi  or  of  Liebig.  A  ragged-coated  man  should  be 
grateful  for  a  tight  bit  of  linsey-wolsey  to  his  back, 
until  such  time  as  he  conies  to  the  dignity  of  broad 
cloth. 

Four  fifths  of  those  who  undertake  farming, — not 
as  an  amusement  or  simply  as  an  occupation,  but  as  the 
business  of  their  life,  and  upon  whom  we  are  depend 
ent  for  our  potatoes,  veal,  and  cider  (to  say  nothing 
more), — are  compelled  to  do  the  best  they  can  with 
existing  buildings ;  and  Stephens'  plans  of  a  '  farm- 
steading  '  are  as  much  Greek  to  them,  as  the  '  Works 
and  Days '  of  Hesiod.  A  hint,  therefore,  of  judicious 
adaptation  of  old  buildings,  may  be  all  they  can  digest 
with  that  practical  relish  with  which  a  man  accepts 
suggestions  that  are  within  the  compass  of  his  means 
and  necessities. 

Again,  the  British  or  Continental  needs  in  the 
matter  of  farm  constructions,  are  totally  different 
from  American  need,  in  all  northern  latitudes.  The 
British  farmer  can  graze  his  turnips  into  January; 
and  I  have  seen  a  pretty  herd  of  Devon  cows  cropping 
a  fair  bite  of  grass,  under  the  lee  of  the  Devon  Tors, 


100  MY  FARM. 

into  February.  We,  on  the  contrary,  have  need  to 
store  forage  for  at  least  six  months  in  the  year.  Hay 
begins  to  go  out  of  the  bays  with  the  first  of  Novem 
ber  at  the  latest,  and  there  is  rarely  a  good  bite  upon 
the  pastures  until  the  tenth  of  May.  For  this  reason 
there  is  required  a  great  breadth  of  barn  room. 

The  high  cost  of  labor,  too,  forbids  that  distribu 
tion  of  the  farm  offices  over  a  considerable  area  of 
surface,  which  is  characteristic  of  the  British  stead 
ing.  The  tall  buildings,  which  are  just  now  so  much 
in  vogue  with  enterprising  American  farmers,  situated 
by  preference  upon  swiftly  sloping  land,  and  giving  an 
upper  floor  for  forage,  a  second  and  lower  one  for 
granary  and  cattle,  and  a  third  for  manure  pit,  have 
been  suggested  and  commended  chiefly  for  their  great 
economy  of  labor  ;  one  man  easily  caring  for  a  herd, 
under  these  conditions  of  lodgment,  which  upon  the 
old  system  would  demand  two  or  three. 

Machinery,  too,  which  must  presently  come  to  do 
most  of  the  indoor  work  upon  a  well-managed  farm 
of  any  considerable  size,  will  require  for  its  effective 
service  compact  buildings. 

Let  me  repeat  the  conditions  of  good  American 
barns.  They  must  suffice  for  ample  protection  of  the 
harvested  crops  ;  ample  and  warm  shelter  for  the  ani 
mals  ;  security  against  waste  of  manurial  resources ; 
and  such  compactness  of  arrangement  as  shall  war- 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  10] 

rant  the  fullest  economy  of  labor.  With  these  ends 
reached,  they  may  be  old  or  new,  irregular  or  quad 
rangular — they  are  all  that  a  good  farmer  needs  in  the 
way  of  architecture,  to  command  success. 

The  Cattle. 

M  A  \  THAT  sort  o'  cattle  d'ye  mean  to  keep, 
?  T  Squire  ? "  said  one  of  my  old-fashioned 
neighbors,  shortly  after  my  establishment.  "  Squire  " 
used  to  be  the  New  England  title  for  whatever  man, 
not  a  clergyman  or  doctor,  indulged  in  the  luxury  of 
a  black  coat  occasionally,  upon  work  days.  But  in 
these  levelling  times,  I  am  sorry  to  perceive  that  it  is 
going  by  ;  and  I  only  wear  the  honor  now,  at  a  long 
distance  from  home,  in  the  c  up-country.' 

To  return  to  the  cattle ;  my  neighbor's  question 
was  a  pertinent  one.  Not  what  cattle  did  I  admire 
most,  or  what  cattle  I  thought  the  finest ;  but  what 
cattle  shall  I  keep  ? 

In  this,  as  in  the  matter  of  the  house,  of  the  out 
buildings  and  of  the  roadway,  I  believe  thoroughly  in 
adaptation  to  ends  in  view.  If  I  had  been  under 
taking  the  business  of  a  cattle  breeder,  I  should 
have  sought  for  those  of  the  purest  blood,  of  what 
ever  name ;  if  I  had  counted  upon  sales  to  the 
butcher,  my  choice  would  have  been  different;  if, 


102  MY  FARM. 

again,  butter  had  been  the  aim,  I  am  sure  I  should 
have  made  no  great  mistake  in  deciding  for  the  sleei 
Jersey  cattle.  But  for  mere  supply  of  milk,  under 
ordinary  conditions  of  feeding,  I  do  not  know  that 
any  breed  has  as  yet  established  an  unchallenged 
claim  to  the  front  rank.  The  Devons,  Ayrshires,  and 
Shorthorns,  each  have  their  advocates ;  for  the  lati 
tude  and  pasturage  of  New  England,  if  I  were  com 
pelled  to  choose  between  the  three,  I  should  certainly 
choose  the  Ayrshires  ;  but  I  am  satisfied  that  a  more 
successful  milk  dairy  can  be  secured  by  a  motley  herd 
of  natives,  half-bloods,  and  animals  of  good  promise 
for  the  pail,  than  by  limitation  of  stock  to  any  one 
breed.  I  am  confirmed  in  this  view  by  the  examples 
of  most  large  dairies  of  this  country,  as  well  as  by 
many  in  Great  Britain.  I  particularly  remember  a 
nice  little  herd  which  I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing, 
some  years  since,  at  the  excellently  managed  farm  of 
Glas-Nevin  in  the  environs  of  Dublin :  sleek  animals 
all,  and  thoroughly  cared  for ;  but  showing  a  medley 
of  races ;  the  queen  milker  of  all — as  it  chanced — 
having  lineage  in  which  the  Ayrshire,  the  Shorthorn 
and  Devon  were  all  blended. 

I  know  there  are  very  many  cattle  fanciers,  and 
stanch  committee  men,  who  will  not  approve  this 
method  of  talking  about  mixed  stables,  and  of  a 
medley  of  different  races, — as  if  a  farmer  were  at  liber. 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  103 

ty  to  make  his  choice  of  cattle,  with  the  same  coolness 
with  which  he  would  make  his  choice  of  ploughs  or 
wagons,  and  to  tie  up  together,  if  the  humor  takes 
Mm,  animals  which  the  breeders  have  been  keeping 
religiously  apart  for  a  few  score  of  years. 

But  I  do  not  share  in  this  punctiliousness.  I  be 
lieve  that  these  animals  all,  whether  of  the  Herd-book 
or  out  of  it,  must  be  measured  at  last,  not  by  their 
pedigree  or  title,  but  by  their  fitness  for  humble  farm 
services.  A  family  name  may  be  a  good  enough  test 
of  any  animal — biped  or  other — from  whom  we  look 
for  no  particular  duty,  save  occasional  exhibition  of 
his  parts  before  public  assemblages ;  but  when  our 
exigencies  demand  special  and  important  service,  we 
are  apt  to  measure  fitness  by  something  more  in 
trinsic. 

The  cattle  breeders  are  unquestionably  doing 
great  benefit  to  the  agricultural  interests  of  the  coun 
try;  but  the  essential  distinction  between  the  aims 
of  the  breeder  and  farmer  should  not  be  lost  sight  of. 
The  first  seeks  to  develop,  under  the  best  possible 
conditions  of  food  and  shelter,  those  points  in  the  ani 
mal  which  most  of  all  make  the  distinction  of  the 
race.  The  farmer  seeks  an  animal,  or  should,  which 
in  view  of  climate,  soil,  and  his  practice  of  husbandry, 
shall  return  him  the  largest  profit,  whether  in  the 
dairy,  under  the  yoke,  or  in  the  shambles.  He  has 


104  MY  FARM. 

nothing  to  do  with  points,  but  the  points  that  shall 
meet  these  ends.  There  is  no  reason  why  he  should 
limit  himself  to  one  strain  of  blood,  unless  that  strain 
meets  and  fills  every  office  of  his  farm  economy,  any 
more  than  he  should  narrow  his  poultry  range  to  pea 
fowl,  or  to  golden  pheasant. 

I  think  I  may  have  talked  somewhat  in  this  strain 
to  my  old  neighbor,  who  asked  after  the  "  squire's 
cattle  "—but  not  at  such  a  length ;  and  I  think  that 
he  offered  some  such  corollary  as  this  : 

"  Squire,  them  English  cows  is  handsome  critturs 
enough  to  look  at ;  but  ye  have  to  keep  a  follerin'  on 
'em  up  with  a  meal  tub." 

It  is  very  easy  to  lay  down  a  charming  set  of  rules 
for  the  establishment  of  a  good  herd  (and  for  that 
matter — of  a  good  life)  ;  but — to  follow  them  ? 

I  will  be  bound  to  say  that  there  was  never  a  pret 
tier  flock  of  milch  cows  gathered  in  any  man's  stables 
than  the  superior  one  which  I  conjured  up  in  my 
fancy,  after  an  imaginative  foray  about  the  neighbor 
hood.  But  it  was  not  easy  to  make  the  fancy  good. 
Mr.  Flint,  in  his  very  capital  book  upon  milch  cows 
and  dairy  farming,  gives  a  full  elucidation  of  that 
theory  of  M.  Guenon,  by  which  the  milking  properties 
of  an  animal  can  be  determined  by  what  is  called  the 
escutcheon, — being  certain  natural  markings,  around 
the  udder  upon  the  inner  parts  of  the  thighs.  It  is 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  105 

perhaps  needless  to  say,  that  such  minute  observation 
as  would  alone  justify  a  decision  based  upon  this  the 
ory,  might  sometimes  prove  awkward,  and  embar 
rassing.  Upon  the  whole,  I  should  counsel  young 
farmers  in  summer  clothing,  and  away  from  home, 
to  judge  of  a  cow  by  other  indicia. 

Still,  the  theory  of  M.  Guenon*  has  its  value ;  and 
I  am  persuaded  that  he  was  worthily  adjudged  the 
gold  medal  at  the  hands  of  the  Agricultural  Society 
of  Bordeaux.  But  with  this,  and  all  other  aids — 
among  which  I  may  name  the  loose  preemptory  reflec 
tions  and  suggestions  of  certain  adjoining  farmers — I 
was  by  no  means  proud  of  the  appearance  of  the  little 
herd  of  twelve  or  i&urteen  cows  with  which  opera 
tions  were  to  commence. 

The  popular  belief,  that  all  jockeyism  and  cheatery 
is  confined  to  horse  dealings,  is  too  limited.  Whoever 
will  visit  the  cow  stables  in  Robinson  street,  or  near 
to  Third  avenue,  upon  a  market  day,  may  observe  a 
score  or  two  of  animals  with  painfully  distended  ud 
ders  (the  poor  brutes  have  not  been  milked  in  the  last 
forty-eight  hours),  throwing  appealing  glances  about 
the  enclosure,  and  eyeing  askance  certain  bullet-headed 
calves,  which  are  tied  in  adjoining  stalls,  but  which 

*  The  interested  agricultural  reader  may  consult  "  Choix  dea 
Vaches  Laitieres,  par  M.  Magne,  Paris"  for  full  exhibition  of  the 
system. 

5* 


106  MY  FARM. 

have  no  more  claim  upon  the  maternal  instincts  of 
the  elder  animals,  than  the  drovers  themselves.  It  is 
sill  a  bald  fiction  ;  the  true  offspring  have  gone  to  the 
butchers  months  ago ;  and  if  the  poor,  surcharged 
brutes  accept  of  the  offices  of  the  little  staggering 
foundlings,  it  is  with  a  weary  poke  of  the  head,  that 
is  damning  to  the  brutality  of  the  drovers. 

It  would  be  too  much  to  say  that  I  have  never 
been  deceived  by  these  people  ;  too  much  to  say  that 
honest  old  gentlemen  of  innocent  proclivities  did  never 
pass  upon  me  certain  venerable  animals,  with  the  tell 
tale  wrinkles  rasped  out  of  their  horns.  One  of  this 
class,  of  a  really  creditable  figure,  high  hip  bones, 
heavy  quarters,  well  marked  milk  veins,  I  was  incau 
tious  enough  to  test  by  a  glance  into  her  mouth. 
Not  a  tooth  in  her  old  head ! 

I  looked  accusingly  at  the  rural  owner,  who  was 
quietly  cutting  a  notch  in  the  top  rail  of  his  fence. 

"  Waal,  yes — kinder  rubbed  off;  but  she  bites 
pooty  well  with  her  gooms." 

Among  the  early  purchases,  and  among  the  ani 
mals  that  promised  well,  was  a  dun  cow,  which  it  was 
found  necessary,  after  a  few  weeks  of  full  feeding,  to 
cumber  with  a  complicated  piece  of  neck  furniture,  to 
forbid  her  filching  surreptitiously  what  properly  be 
longed  to  the  pail.  Self-milkers  are  not  profitable.  I 
have  faith  in  the  doctrine  of  rotation,  and  the  quick 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  ]Q7 

reconversion  of  farm  products  into  the  elements  of 
new  growth.  But  here  was  a  case  of  reconversion 
so  rapid,  as  to  be  fatal  to  all  the  laws  of  economy.  It 
suggested  nothing  so  strongly,  as  that  rapid  issue  of 
government  money,  which  finds  immediate  absorption 
among  the  governmental  officials.  Does  the  govern 
ment  really  milk  itself ;  and  can  no  preventive  be 
found  in  the  way  of  neck  machinery,  or  other  ? 

Another  animal  was  admirable  in  every  point  of 
view ;  I  found  her  upon  one  of  the  North  River 
wharves,  and  the  perfect  outline  of  her  form  and 
high-bred  action,  induced  a  purchase,  even  at  a  long 
figure  ;  but  the  beast  proved  an  inveterate  kicker. 

The  books  recommend  gentleness  for  the  cure  of 
this  propensity  ;  so  does  humanity  ;  I  concurred  with 
both  in  suggesting  that  treatment  to  Patrick. 

"  Gintle  is  it  ?  And  bedad,  sir,  she's  too  ould  for 
a  cure.  I'm  thinking  we  must  tie  her  legs,  sir ;  but 
if  ye  orders  it,  bedad,  it's  meself  can  be  gintle. 

"  Soh,  Moolly — soh — soh  (and  a  kick)  ;  soh,  ye 
baste  (a  little  livelier),  soh  (and  a  kick) — soh,  blast 
ye  ! — soh,  Moolly — son,  Katy — SOH  (and  a  crash)  ; 
och,  you  ould  baste  ye— take  that !  "  and  there  is  a 
thud  of  tLe  milking  stool  in  the  ribs. 

The  "  gintleness  "  of  Patrick  is  unavailing.  But 
the  cow  is  an  excellent  animal,  and  not  to  be  hastily 
discarded.  Milker  after  milker  undertook  the  con- 


108  MY  FARM. 

quest,  but  with  no  better  success.  The  task  became 
the  measure  of  a  man's  long-suffering  disposition ; 
some  gave  over,  and  lost  their  tempers  before  the  first 
trial  was  finished ;  others  conjured  down  the  spirit 
by  all  sorts  of  endearing  epithets  and  tenderness, 
until  the  conquest  seemed  almost  made ;  when  sud 
denly  pail,  stool,  and  man  would  lapse  together,  and 
a  stream  of  curses  carry  away  all  record  of  the  ten 
derness.  We  came  back  at  last  to  Patrick's  original 
suggestion  ;  the  legs  must  be  tied.  A  short  bit  of 
thick  rope  passed  around  one  foot  and  loosely  knot 
ted,  then  passed  around  the  second  and  tied  tightly 
in  double  knot,  rendered  her  powerless.  There  was 
a  slight  struggle,  but  it  was  soon  at  an  end  ;  and  she 
made  no  opposition  to  the  removal  of  the  thong  after 
the  milking  was  over.  With  this  simple  provision, 
the  trouble  was  all  done  away ;  and  for  a  whole  year 
matters  went  well.  But  after  this,  there  came  a  re 
former  into  control  of  the  dairy.  The  rope  was  bar 
barous  ;  he  didn't  believe  in  such  things  ;  he  had  seen 
kicking  cows  before.  A  little  firmness  and  gentle 
ness  would  accomplish  the  object  better  ;  God  didn't 
make  cows'  legs  to  be  tied.  The  position  was  a 
humane  one,  if  not  logical.  And  the  thong  was  dis 
carded. 

"Well  Patrick,"  said  I,  two  days  after,  "how 
fares  the  cow  ?  " 


TAKING  REINS  IN  HAND.  109 

"  And  bcgorra,  it's  the  same  ould  baste,  sir." 

A  few  days  later  I  inquired  again  after  the  new 
regimen  of  gentleness  and  firmness. 

"  Begorra,"  said  Patrick,  "  she's  kicked  him 
again ! " 

A  week  passed ;  and  I  repeated  the  inquiries. 

"  Begorra,  she's  kicked  him  again ! "  screamed 
Patrick ;  "  and  it's  a  divil's  own  bating  he's  been 
giving  the  ould  baste." 

Sure  enough,  the  poor  cow  was  injured  sadly ; 
her  milking  days  were  over ;  and  in  a  month  she 
went  to  the  butcher.  And  this  advocate  of  gentle 
ness  and  firmness  was  one  of  the  warmest  and  most 
impassioned  philanthropists  I  ever  met  with. 

The  moral  of  the  story  is, — if  a  cow  is  an  inveterate 
kicker,  tie  her  legs  with  a  gentle  hand,  or  kill  her. 
Beating  will  never  cure,  whether  it  come  in  successive 
thuds,  or  in  an  explosive  outbreak  of  outrageous  vio 
lence.  I  suspect  that  the  same  ruling  is  applicable  to 
a  great  many  disorderly  members  of  society. 

Although  the  cases  I  have  cited  were  exceptional, 
and  although  my  little  herd  had  its  quiet,  docile, 
profit-giving  representatives,  yet  I  cannot  say  that  it 
was  altogether  even  with  my  hopes  or  intentions. 

Two  stout  yoke  of  those  sleek  red  cattle,  for 
which  southern  New  England  is  famous,  had  their 
part  to  bear  in  the  farm  programme,  besides  a  sleek 


110  MY  FARM. 

young  Alderney  bull,  and  a  pair  of  sturdy  horses. 
There  were  pigs  with  just  enough  of  the  Suffolk  blood 
in  them  to  give  a  shapely  outline,  and  not  so  much  as 
to  develop  that  red  scurfy  baldness,  which  is  to  my 
eye  rather  an  objectionable  feature  of  high  breeding 
and  feeding — whether  in  men  or  pigs. 

Ducks,  turkeys,  and  hens,  in  a  fluttering  brood, 
brought  up  the  rear.  With  these  all  safely  bestowed 
about  the  farm  buildings  which  I  have  briefly  indi 
cated,  and  with  a  rosy-nosed,  dapper  little  Somerset 
shire  man,  who  wore  his  tall  Sunday-beaver  with  a 
Blight  cant  to  one  side,  established  as  lieutenant-gov 
ernor  in  the  cottage,  the  reins  seemed  fairly  in  hand. 


CHOPS    AND    PROJFIT8. 


III. 

CROPS  AND  PROFITS. 


The  Hill  Land. 

BEFORE  we  keep  company  farther — the  reader 
and  I — let  me  spread  before  him,  as  well  as  I 
may,  a  map  of  the  farm  land.  I  may  describe  it,  in 
gross,  as  a  great  parallelogram,  intersected  by  the 
quiet  public  highway,  which  divides  it  into  two  great 
squares.  The  eastern  square  is,  for  the  most  part,  as 
level  as  the  carpet  on  my  library  floor,  and  its  crops 
make  checkers  like  the  figures  on  the  ingrain.  The 
eastern  half  is  toward  the  town  ;  and  upon  its  edge, 
by  the  highway,  are  the  farm  buildings  I  have 
grouped  around  the  stone  cottage.  The  western 
half  is  rolling ;  and  beyond  the  whitey-gray  farm 
house,  with  which  I  entered  upon  my  portraiture,  it 
heaves  up  into  a  great  billow  of  hill,  half  banded 
with  woodland,  and  half  green  with  pasture. 


114  MY  FARM. 

This  billow  of  hill,  dipped  down  between  my 
home  and  the  stone  cottage,  into  a  little  valley, 
which  I  have  transmuted,  as  before  described,  into  a 
lawn  of  grass  land,  with  its  clumps  of  native  trees 
and  flowering  shrubs,  and  its  little  pool,  under  the 
willows,  that  receives  the  drainage.  Elsewhere, 
beyond,  and  higher,  its  surface  was  scarred  with 
stones  of  all  shapes  and  sizes ;  orderly  geology 
would  have  been  at  fault  amid  its  debris  ; — there  were 
boulders  of  trap,  with  clean  sharp  fissures  breaking 
through  them ;-  there  were  great  flat  fragments  of 
gneiss  covered  with  gray  lichens  ; — there  were  pure 
granitic  rocks  worn  round, — perhaps  by  the  play  of 
some  waves  that  have  been  hushed  these  thousand 
years ;  and  there  were  exceptional  fragments  of 
coarse  red  sandstone,  frittered  half  away  by  centu 
ries  of  ram,  and  leaving  protruding  pimples  of  harder 
pebbles.  In  short,  Professor  Johnston,  who  advised 
(in  Scotland)  the  determination  of  a  farm  purchase 
by  the  character  of  the  subjacent  and  adjoining 
rocks,  would  have  been  at  fault  upon  my  hillside.  A 
short  way  back,  amid  the  woods,  he  would  have 
found  a  huge  ridge  of  intractable  serpentine  ;  the 
boulders  he  would  have  discovered  to  be  of  most 
various  quality ;  and  if  he  had  dipped  his  spade, 
aided  by  a  pick,  he  would  have  found  a  yellow,  fer 
ruginous  conglomerate,  which  the  rains  convert  into 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  115 

a  mud  that  is  all  aflow,  and  which  the  suns  bake  into 
a  surface,  that  with  the  sharpest  of  mattocks  would 
start  a  flood  of  perspiration,  before  he  had  combed  a 
square  yard  of  it  into  a  state  of  garden  pulverization. 

Lying  above  this,  however,  was  a  vegetable 
mould,  with  a  shiny  silicious  intermixture  (what  pre 
cise  people  would  call  a  sandy  loam),  well  knitted 
together  by  a  compact  mass  of  the  roots  of  myrtles, 
of  huckleberry  bushes,  and  of  ferns.  Geologically, 
the  hill  was  a  '  drift ; '  agriculturally,  considering  the 
steep  slopes  and  the  matted  roots,  it  was  uninviting ; 
pictorially,  it  was  rounded  into  the  most  graceful  of 
cumulated  swells,  and  all  glowing  with  its  wild  ver 
dure  ;  practically,  it  was  a  coarse  bit  of  neglected 
cow-pasture,  with  the  fences  down,  and  the  bushes 
rampant. 

What  could  be  done  with  this  ?  It  is  a  query 
that  a  great  many  landholders  throughout  ISTew'  Eng 
land  will  have  occasion  some  day  to  submit  to  them 
selves,  if  they  have  not  done  so  already.  Overfeed 
ing  with  starveling  cows,  and  a  lazy  dash  at  the  brush 
in  the  idle  days  of  August,  will  not  transform  such 
hills  into  fields  of  agricultural  wealth.  Under  such 
regimen  they  grow  thinner  and  thinner.  The  annual 
excoriation  of  the  brush  above  ground,  seems  only  to 
provoke  a  finer  and  firmer  distribution  of  the  roota 
below  ;  and  the  depasturing  by  cows — particularly 


116  MY  FARM. 

of  milch  animals,  folded  or  stalled  at  night — will 
gradually  and  surely  diminish  the  fertilizing  capi 
tal  of  such  grazing  land.  It  is  specially  noticeable 
that  the  deterioration  under  these  conditions,  is 
much  more  marked  upon  hill  lands  than  upon  level 
meadows.* 

In  the  back  country,  such  old  pastures  with  their 
brush  and  scattered  stones,  will  feed  sheep  profit 
ably,  and  will  grow  better  under  the  cropping. 
But  in  the  immediate  neighborhood  of  towns,  where 
every  barkeeper  has  his  half  dozen  dogs,  and  every 
Irish  family  their  cur,  and  every  vagabond  his  canine 
associate,  sheep  can  only  be  kept  at  a  serious  risk  of 
immolation  for  the  benefit  of  these  worthies.  Proper 
legislation  might  interpose  a  bar,  indeed,  to  such 
sacrifice  of  agricultural  interests, — if  legislation  were 
not  so  largely  in  the  hands  of  dog-fanciers. 

The  sheep  are  not  the  only  sufferers. 

Shall  the  hill  be  ploughed?  It  is  not  an  easy 
task  to  lay  a  good  furrow  along  a  slope  of  forty-five 
degrees,  with  its  seams  of  old  wintry  torrents,  its 
occasional  boulders,  and  its  matted  myrtle  roots ; 
and,  if  fairly  accomplished,  the  winter's  rains  may 
drive  new  seams  from  top  to  bottom,  carrying  the 
light  mould  far  down  under  walls,  and  into  useless 

*  This  is  perhaps  more  apparent  than  real,  from  the  fact  that 
upon  level  lauds  the  droppings  are  more  evenly  distributed. 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  Hf 

places, — leaving  harsh  yellow  scars,  that  will  defy 
the  mellowest  June  sunshine. 

A  city  friend,  with  city  aptitude,  suggests — ter 
races  ;  and  instances  the  pretty  ones  overhung  with 
vines,  which  the  traveller  may  see  along  the  banks 
of  the  Rhine. 

I  answer  kindly;  and  in  the  same  vein — suggest 
that  such  scattered  rocks,  as  are  not  needed, 
may  be  thrown  into  the  shape  of  an  old  watch 
tower — with  Bishop  Hatto's  for  a  model — to  mimic 
the  Rhine  ruins. 

"  Charming  !  and  when  the  grapes  are  ripe, 

drop  me  a  line."  Arid  my  city  friend  plucks  a  bit  of 
penny-royal,  and  nips  it  complacently. 

Terracing  might  be  done  in  a  rude  but  substantial 
way,  at  the  cost  of  about  fifteen  hundred  dollars  the 
acre.  This  might  do  at  Johannisberg ;  but  hardly,  in 
a  large  way,  in  Connecticut.  Crops  must  needs  be 
exceeding  large  upon  such  terraces,  to  compete  suc 
cessfully  with  those  of  a  thriving  '  forehanded '  man, 
who  farms  upon  a  land  capital  of  less  than  a  hundred 
dollars  to  the  acre. 

I  abandoned  the  design  of  terraces.  And  yet, 
there  are  times  when  I  regale  myself  for  hours 
together,  with  the  pleasant  fancy  of  my  city  friend. 
His  terraces  should  be  well  lichened  over  now ;  and 
A  seem  to  see  brimming  on  the  successive  shelves 


118  MY  FARM. 

of  the  hill,  great  festoons  cf  vines,  spotted  with 
purple  clusters ;  amidst  the  foliage,  there  gleams, 
here  and  there,  the  broad  hat  of  some  vineyard 
dresser  (as  in  German  pictures),  and  crimson  kirtles 
come  and  go,  and  songs  flash  into  the  summer  still 
ness,  and  a  soft  purple  haze  wraps  the  scene,  and 
thickens  in  the  hollows  of  the  land,  and  swims 
fathoms  deep  around  the  ruin 

"  Square,  what  d'ye  ask  apiece  for  them  suck 
ers  ?  " 

It  is  my  neighbor,  who  has  clambered  up,  holding 
by  the  myrtle  bushes,  to  buy  a  pig. 

The  vexed  question  of  the  proper  dressing 
and  tillage  of  the  hillside,  is  still  in  reserve.  I 
resolved  it  in  this  wise : — Of  the  rocks  most  con 
venient,  and  least  available  for  fencing  purposes, 
I  constructed  an  easy  roadway,  leading  by  grad 
ual  inclination  from  top  to  bottom ;  other  stones 
were  laid  up  in  a  substantial  wall,  which  sup 
plies  the  place  of  a  staggering  and  weakly  fence, 
which  every  strong  northwester  prostrated ;  still 
others,  of  a  size  too  small  for  any  such  purpose,  were 
buried  in  drains,  which  diverted  the  standing  moist 
ure  from  one  or  two  sedgy  basins  on  the  hill,  and 
discharged  the  flow  upon  the  crown  of  a  gravelly 
slope.  There,  I  have  now  the  pleasure  of  seeing  a 
mos-t  luxuriant  growth  of  white  clover  and  red  top. 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  119 

fertilized  wholly  by  the  flow  of  water  which  was  only 
harmful  in  its  old  locality.  I  next  ordered,  in  the 
leisurely  time  of  later  autumn,  the  grubbing  up  of 
the  patches  of  myrtles  and  briers,  root  and  branch  ; 
these  with  the  mossy  turf  that  cumbered  them,  after 
thorough  drying,  were  set  on  fire,  and  burned  slum- 
berously,  with  a  little  careful  watching  and  tending, 
for  weeks  together.  I  was  thus  in  possession  of  a 
comparatively  smooth  surface,  not  so  far  disinte 
grated  as  to  be  subject  to  damaging  washes  of  storm, 
besides  having  a  large  stock  of  fertilizing  material  in 
the  shape  of  ashes. 

In  the  following  spring,  these  were  carefully 
spread;  a  generous  supply  of  hay-seed  sown,  and  still 
further,  an  ample  dressing  of  phosphatic  guano.  The 
hillside  was  then  thoroughly  combed  with  a  fine- 
toothed  Scotch  harrow,  and  the  result  has  been  a 
compact  lively  sod,  and  a  richer  bite  for  the  cattle. 

Again,  upon  one  or  two  salient  points  of  the  hill, 
where  there  were  stubborn  rocks  which  forbade 
removal,  I  have  set  little  coppices  of  native  ever 
greens,  which,  without  detracting  in  any  appreciable 
dt-gree  from  the  grazing  surface,  will,  as  they  grow, 
have  charming  effect,  and  offer  such  modicum  of 
shade  as  all  exposed  pasture  lands  need.  One  who 
looked  only  to  simple  farm  results,  would  certainly 
never  have  planted  the  little  coppices,  or  hedged 


120  MY  FARM 

them,  as  I  have  done,  against  injury.  But  it  appears 
to  me  that  judicious  management  of  land  in  the 
neighborhood  of  large  towns,  should  not  ignore 
wholly,  the  conservation  of  those  picturesque  effects, 
which  at  no  very  remote  time,  may  come  to  have  a 
marketable  value,  greater  even  than  the  productive 
capacity  of  the  soil. 

I  have  even  had  the  hardihood  to  leave  upon  cer 
tain  particularly  intractable  spots  of  the  hill  land, 
groups  of  myrtles,  briers,  scrubby  oaks,  wild  grapes, 
and  birches,  to  tangle  themselves  together  as  they 
will,  in  a  wanton  savagery  of  growth.  Such  a 
copse  makes  a  round  perch  or  two  of  wilderness 
about  the  sprawling  wreck  of  an  old  cellar  and 
chimney,  which  have  traditional  smack  of  former 
Indian  occupancy;  and  the  site  gives  color  to 
the  tradition ; — for  you  look  from  it  southeasterly 
over  three  square  miles  of  wavy  meadows,  through 
which  a  river  gleams  ;  and  over  bays  that  make  good 
fishing  ground,  and  over  a  ten-mile  reach  of  shim 
mering  sea.  A  little  never-failing  spring  bubbles  up 
a  few  yards  away ;  and  to  the  westward  and  north 
ward,  the  land  piles  in  easy  slope,  making  sunny  shel 
ter,  where, — first  on  all  the  hillside, — the  snow  van 
ishes  in  Spring.  The  Indian  people  had  a  quick  eye 
for  such  advantages  of  position. 

In  still  further  confirmation,  I  have  turned  up  an 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  121 

arrow-head  or  two  in  the  neighborhood,  chipped 
from  white  quartz,  and  as  keen  and  sharp  as  on  the 
day  they  were  wrought. 

I  am  aware  that  what  are  called  '  tidy  farmers ' 
would  have  brushed  away  these  outlying  copses,  no 
matter  what  roughnesses  they  concealed  ;  but  I  sus 
pect  their  rude  autumn  clippings  with  a  bush-hook, 
would  only  have  provoked  a  spread  of  the  rootlets  ; 
and  if  effectual,  would  have  given  them  only  a  bit 
of  barrenness. 

Up-country  farmers  are  overtaken  from  time  to 
time,  with  what  I  may  call  a  spasmodic  tidiness, 
which  provokes  a  general  onslaught  with  bill-hooks 
and  castaway  scythes,  upon  hedge  rows  and  wayside 
bushes,  and  pasture  thickets, — without  considering 
that  these  thickets  may  conceal  idle  stone  heaps  or 
decrepid  walls,  which  are  as  sightless  as  the  extermi 
nated  bush  ;  and  their  foray  leaves  a  vigorous  crop 
of  harsh  stubs,  which,  with  the  next  season,  shoot  up 
with  more  luxuriance  than  ever,  and  leave  no  more 
available  land  within  the  farmer's  grasp  than  before. 
Wherever  it  is  profitable  to  remove  such  wild  growth, 
it  is  profitable  to  exterminate  it  root  and  branch. 
•Half  doing  the  matter  is  of  less  worth  than  not  doing 
it  at  all.  But  it  is  well  to  consider  before  entering 
upon  such  a  campaign,  if  the  end  will  justify  the  la 
bor  ;  and  if  the  recovered  strips  of  land  will  carry  re- 
6 


122  MY  FARM. 

munerative  crops.  If  otherwise,  let  the  wild  growth 
enjoy  its  wantonness.  It  may  come  to  be  a  little 
scattered  range  of  wood  in  time,  and  so  have  its 
»alue;  it  may  offer  shelter  against  the  sweep  of 
winds  ;  it  will  give  a  nursing  place  for  the  birds,— and 
the  birds  are  the  farmer's  friends. 

I  am  loth  to  believe  that  the  natural  graces  of 
woodland  and  shrubbery  are  incompatible  with  agri 
cultural  interests ;  and  a  true  farm  economy  seems  to 
me  better  directed  in  making  more  thorough  the 
tillage  of  the  open  lands,  than  in  making  Quixotic 
foray  upon  the  bushy  fastnesses  of  outlying  pastures. 
"When  a  dense  population  shall  have  rendered  ne 
cessary  the  employment  of  every  foot  of  our  area  for 
food-growing  purposes,  it  may  be  incumbent  on  us  to 
cleave  all  the  rocks,  and  to  clear  away  all  the  copses : 
but  until  then,  I  shall  love  to  treat  with  a  tender  con- 
sideration  the  green  mantle — albeit  of  brambles  and 
wild  vines — with  which  Kature  covers  her  rough 
nesses  ;  and  I  seem  to  see  in  the  streaming  tendrils, 
and  in  the  nodding  tassels  of  bloom  which  bind  and 
tuft  these  wild  thickets  of  the  hills,  a  sampler  of 
vegetable  luxuriance,  which  every  summer's  day 
provokes  and  defies  all  our  rivalry  of  the  fields. 

What  is  called  tidiness,  is  by  no  means  always 
taste  ;  and  I  am  slow  to  believe  that  farm  economy 
must  be  at  eternal  war  with  grace.  I  know  well  that 


CROPS  AXD  PROFITS.  123 

no  inveterate  improver  should  ever  tempt  me  tc 
extirpate  the  dandelions  from  the  green  carpet  ol 
my  lawn,  or  to  cut  away  the  wild  Kalmia  bush 
which  in  yonder  group  among  the  rocks,  is  just  now 
reddening  into  its  crown  of  blossoms. 


The  Farm  Flat. 

IT  is  a  different  matter  with  the  eighty  acres  of 
meadow  which  lie  stretched  out  in  view  from 
my  door.  There,  at  least,  it  seemed  to  me,  must  be 
a  clean,  clear  sw^eep  for  the  furrows.  Yet  I  remem 
ber  there  were  long  wavy  lines  of  elder-bushes,  and 
wild-cherries,  groping  beside  the  disorderly  divid 
ing  fences.  There  were  weakly  old  apple-trees,  with 
blackened,  dead  tops,  and  with  trunks  half  concealed 
by  thickets  of  dwarfish  shoots ;  there  were  triplets 
of  lithe  elms,  and  hickory  trees,  scattered  here 
and  there; — in  some  fields,  stunted,  draggled  cedar 
bushes,  and  masses  of  yellow-weed ; — a  little  patch  of 
ploughed-land  in  the  corner  of  one  enclosure,  and  a 
waving  half  acre  of  rye  in  the  middle  of  the  next. 
The  fences  themselves  were  disjointed  and  twisted, 
— the  fields  without  uniformity  in  size,  and  with  no 
order  in  their  arrangement. 

"  I  think  we  must  mend  the  look  of  these  mead 
ows,  Coombs  ?  " 


124  MY  FARM. 

And  the  dapper  Somersetshire  man,  with  his  hat 
defiantly  on  one  side—"  Please  God,  and  I  think  we 
will,  sir." 

I  must  do  him  the  justice  to  say  that  he  was 
as  good  as  his  word.  In  looking  over  the  scene 
now,  I  find  no  straggling  cedars,  no  scattered  shoots 
of  elms  ;  the  wayward  elders,  and  the  wild -cherries 
save  one  protecting  and  orderly  hedgerow  along  the 
northern  border  of  the  farm — are  gone.  The  de- 
crepid  apple-trees  are  rooted  up,  or  combed  and 
pruned  into  more  promising  shape.  Ten-acre  fields, 
trim  and  true,  are  distributed  over  the  meadow  land, 
and  each,  for  the  most  part,  has  its  single  engrossing 
crop. 

As  I  look  out  from  my  library  window  to-day— 
and  the  learned  reader  may  guess  the  month  from 
my  description— I  see  one  field  reddened  with  the 
lusty  bloom  of  clover,  which  stands  trembling  in 
its  ranks,  and  which  I  greatly  fear  will  be  doubled 
on  its  knees  with  the  first  rain  storm ;  another  showa 
the  yellowish  waving  green  of  full-grown  rye,  sway- 
ing  and  dimpling,  and  drifting  as  the  idle  winds 
will ;  another  is  half  in  barley  and  half  in  oats — a 
bristling  green  beard  upon  the  first,  the  oats  just 
Hinging  out  their  fleecy,  feathery  tufts  of  blossom ; 
upon  another  field,  are  deep  dark  lines  beneath 
which,  in  September,  there  are  fair  hopes  of  harvest- 


CROPS  AND   PROFITS.  125 

ing  a  thousand  bushels  of  potatoes  ;  yet  another, 
shows  fine  lines  of  growing  corn,  and  a  brown  area, 
where  a  closer  look  would  reveal  the  delicate  growth 
of  fresh-starting  carrots  and  mangel.  All  the  rest 
in  waving  grass ;  not  so  clean  as  could  be  wished, 
for  I  see  tawny  stains  of  blossoming  sorrel,  and  fields 
whitened  like  a  sheet,  with  daisies. 

If  there  be  any  cure  for  daisies,  short  of  a  clean 
fallow  every  second  year,  I  do  not  know  it ;  at  least, 
not  in  a  region  where  your  good  neighbors  allow 
them  to  mature  seed  every  year,  and  stock  your  fields 
with  every  strong  wind,  afresh. 

Heavy  topdressing  is  recommended  for  their 
eradication,  but  it  is  not  effective ;  so  far  as  I  can 
see,  the  interlopers,  if  once  established,  enjoy  heavy 
feeding.  A  rye  crop  is  by  many  counted  an  exter 
minator  of  this  pest ;  but  it  will  find  firm  footing 
after  rye.  Thorough  and  clean  tillage,  with  a  sys 
tem  of  rotation,  afford  the  only  security. 

It  is  not  Burns'  "  wee-tipped  "  daisy  that  is  to  be 
dealt  with  ;  it  is  a  sturdier  plant — our  ox-eye  daisy 
of  the  fields  ;  there  is  no  modesty  in  its  flaunting  air 
and  the  bold  uplift  of  its  white  and  yellow  face. 

I  never  thought  there  was  a  beauty  in  it,  until,  on 
a  day — years  ago — after  a  twelvemonth's  wandering 
over  the  fields  of  the  Continent,  I  came  upon  a  little 
pot  of  it,  under  the  wing  of  the  Madeleine,  on  the 


126  AIY  FARM. 

streets  of  Paris.  It  was  a  dwarfish  specimen,  and 
the  nodding  blossoms  (only  a  pair  of  them)  gave  a 
modest  dip  over  the  edge  of  the  red  crock,  as  if  they 
felt  themselves  in  a  country  of  strangers.  But  it 
was  the  true  daisy  for  all  this,  and  I  greeted  it  with 
a  welcoming  franc  of  purchase  money,  and  carried  it 
to  my  rooms,  and  established  it  upon  my  balcony, 
where,  while  the  flower  lasted,  I  made  a  new  Pic- 
ciola  of  it.  And  as  I  watered  it,  and  watched  its 
green  buttons  of  buds  unfolding  the  white  leaflets, 
wide  visions  of  rough  New  England  grasslands 
came  pouring  with  the  sunshine  into  the  Paris  win 
dow,  and  with  them, — the  drowsy  song  of  locusts, — 
the  gushing  melody  of  Bob-o'-Lincolns, — until  the 
drum-beat  at  the  opposite  Caserne  drowned  it,  and 
broke  the  dream. 

These  living  and  growing  souvenirs  of  far-away 
places,  carry  a  wealth  of  interest  and  of  suggestion 
about  them,  which  no  merely  inanimate  object  can 
do.  I  have  flowers  fairly  pressed,  not  having  wholly 
lost  their  color,  which  I  plucked  from  the  walls  of 
Rome,  and  others  from  a  house-court  of  the  buried 
Pompeii ;  but  they  are  as  dead  as  the  guide  books 
that  describe  the  places. 

It  is  different  wholly  with  a  little  potted  Ivy 
which  a  friend  has  sent  from  the  walls  of  Kenil- 
worth.  It  clambers  over  a  rustic  frame  within  the 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  127 

window — a  tiny,  but  a  real  offshoot  of  that  great 
mass  of  vegetable  life  which  is  flaunting  over  the 
British  ruin ;  a  little  live  bubble  as  it  were,  from  that 
stock  of  vitality  which  is  searching  all  the  crannies  of 
the  masonry  that  belongs  to  the  days  of  Elizabeth. 

I  never  look  at  it  in  times  of  idle  musing,  but  its 
shiny  leaflets  seem  to  carry  me  to  the  gray  wreck  of 
castle :  and  the  tramp  through  the  meadows  from 
Leamington  comes  back — the  wet  grass,  the  gray 
walls,  the  broad-hatted  English  girls,  hovering  with 
gleeful  laughter  about  the  ruin,  and  the  flitch  of 
bacon  hanging  in  the  gatekeeper's  house.  Other- 
times,  the  dainty  tendrils  of  the  vine  lead  me  still 
farther  back ;  and  Leicester,  Amy  Robsart,  Essex, 
and  Queen  Bess  with  her  followers,  and  all  her 
court, — come  trooping  to  my  eye  in  the  trail  of  this 
poor  little  exiled  creeper  from  Kenilworth. 

But  this  is  not  farming. 

"  Coombs,"  said  I,  "  what  shall  we  plant  upon 
the  flat  ?  " — not  that  I  had  no  opinion  on  the  subject, 
but  because  in  farming,  there  is  a  value  in  the  sug 
gestions  of  every  practical  worker. 

The  Somersetshire  man  leans  his  head  a  little,  as 
if  considering  : — "  We  must  have  some  artificial,  sir 
— for  the  co ws—  Mangel  or  pale  Belgians, — both 
good,  sir ;  some  oats  for  the  'osses,  sir ;  potatoes,  sir, 
is  a  tidy  crop — " 


128  MY  FARM. 

I  observe  that  Englishmen  and  Scotchmen  are 
disposed  to  slight  our  standard  crop  of  maize.  They 
do  not  understand  it.  They  fail  of  making  a  cred 
itable  show  in  comparison  with  the  old-school  native 
farmers,  who,  by  dint  of  long  experience,  have 
acquired  the  habit  (rather  habit  than  capacity)  of 
making  a  moderate  crop  of  corn  with  the  least  pos 
sible  amount  of  tillage  and  of  skill.  To  turn  over  a 
firm  grass  sward,  and  plant  ,directly  upon  the  in 
verted  turf,  without  harrowing,  or  ridging,  or  drill 
ing,  is  contrary  to  all  the  old-country  traditions. 

And  yet  the  fact  is  notorious,  that  some  of  the 
best  corn  crops  (I  do  not  speak  now  of  exceptional 
and  premium  crops),  are  grown  in  precisely  this 
primitive  way ;  given  a  good  sod,  and  a  good  top- 
dressing  turned  under — with,  perhaps,  a  little  dash  of 
superphosphate  upon  the  hills  to  quicken  germina 
tion,  and  give  vigorous  start, — and  the  New  England 
farmer,  if  he  give  clean  and  thorough  culture — 
which,  under  such  circumstances,  involves  little  labor 
— can  count  upon  his  forty  or  fifty  bushels  of  sound 
corn  to  the  acre.  And  the  Scotchman  or  Englishman 
may  tear  the  sod,  or  ridge  the  field,  or  drill  it,  or 
torment  it  as  he  will,  before  planting,  and  the 
chances  are,  he  will  reap,  with  the  same  amount  of 
fertilizers,  a  smaller  harvest.  And  it  is  precisely  this 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  12g 

undervaluation  of  his  traditional  mode  of  labor,  that 
makes  him  show  a  distaste  for  the  crop. 

Corn  is  a  rank  grower,  and,  very  largely,  a  sur 
face   feeder;    for   these    reasons,   it    accommodates 
itself  better  than  most  farm  crops,  to  an  awkward 
and  careless    husbandry— provided  only,  abundance 
of  gross   fertilizers    are    present,   and    comparative 
cleanliness  secured.     It  is  not  a  crop  which  I  should 
count  a  valuable  assistant  in  bringing  the  sandy  loam 
of  a  neglected  farm  into  a  condition  of  prime  fer 
tility.     It  has  so  rank  an  appetite  for  the  inorganic 
riches  of  a  soil,  as  to  forbid  any  accumulation  of  that 
valuable  capital.     Nor  do  I  clearly  perceive  how,  in 
the  neighborhood  of  large  towns,  and  upon  light  soils, 
it  can  be  made  a  profitable  crop  at  the  East.     It  has 
a  traditional  sanctity,  to  be  sure ;  and  a  great  many 
pleasant  old  gentlemen  of  New  England,  who  count 
themselves  shrewd  farmers,  would  as  soon  think  of 
abandoning  their  heavy  ox-carts,  or  of  adopting  a 
long-handled  shovel,  as  of  abandoning  their  yearly 
growth  of  corn. 

I  think  I  have  given  the  matter  a  fair  test,  not- 
withstanding  the  objections  of  my  Somersetshire 
friend,  and  have  added  to  my  own  experience,  very 
much  observation  of  my  neighbors'  practice.  And  T 
am  very  confident  that  if  only  a  fair  valuation  bo 
placed  upon  the  labor  and  manures  required,  that  any 


130  MY  FARM. 

average  corn  crop  grown  upon  light  soils  at  the  East, 
will  cost  the  producer  four  years  out  of  five,  ten  per 
cent,  more  than  the  market  price  of  the .  Western 
grain.  In  this  estimate,  I  make  due  allowance  for 
the  value  of  the  stalks  and  blades  for  forage. 

I  shall  enter  into  no  array  of  figures  for  the  sake 
of  proving  this  point ;  figures  can  be  made  to  prove, 
or  seem  to  prove  so  many  things.  And  however 
clearly  the  fact  might  be  demonstrated,  there  are 
two  classes  at  least,  upon  whom  the  demonstration 
would  have  no  effect;  the  first  being  those  over- 
shrewd  old  men,  who  keep  unflinchingly  to  their 
accustomed  ways,  counting  their  own  labor  for  little 
or  nothing  (in  which  they  are  not  far  wrong)  ;  and 
the  other  class  consisting  of  those  retired  gentlemen 
who  bring  so  keen  a  relish  for  farming  to  their  work, 
that  they  rather  enjoy  producing  a  crop  at  a  cost  ol 
twice  its  market  value.  I  heartily  wish  I  were  able 
to  participate  in  such  pleasant  triumphs. 

But  if  the  economy  of  maize  growing  for  the 
grain  product  be  questionable,  there  can  be  no  ques 
tion  whatever  of  cultivating  the  crop  as  a  forage 
plant,  for  green  cutting,  and  for  soiling  purposes. 
In  no  way  can  a  full  supply  of  succulent  food  be  fur 
nished  more  cheaply  for  a  herd  of  cows,  during  the 
heats  of  August  and  September.  For  this  object,  I 
have  found  the  best  results  in  drilling  eighteen 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  131 

inches  apart,  upon  inverted  sod,  thorouglily  manured ; 
to  insure  successive  supplies,  the  sowing  should  be 
repeated  at  intervals  of  a  month,  from  the  twentieth 
of  April  to  the  twentieth  of  July.  A  later  sow 
ing  than  this  last,  will  expose  the  blades  to  early 
frosts. 

The  amount  of  green  food  which  can  be  cut  from 
an  acre  of  well-grown  corn  is  immense ;  but  let  no 
one  hope  for  successful  results,  without  a  most 
ample  supply  of  manure,  and  clean  land.  The  prac 
tice  has  fallen  into  disfavor  with  many,  from  the 
fact  that  they  have  given  all  their  best  fertilizers  to 
other  crops,  and  then  made  the  experiment  of  grow 
ing  corn-fodder  with  a  flimsy  dressing,  and  no  care. 
They  deserved  to  fail.  It  is  to  be  observed  more 
over,  that  as  the  crop  matures  no  seed,  it  makes 
little  drain  upon  the  mineral  wealth  of  the  land,  and 
can  be^  folio  wed  by  any  of  the  cereals.  This  suggests 
a  simple  and  short  rotation :  First,  corn— grown  for  its 
blades  and  stalks  only  (the  first  cuttings  being  suc 
ceeded  by  turnips)  :  Second,  carrots,  Mangel,  or  pota 
toes  :  Third,  oats  or  other  cereal :  and  Fourth,  clover 
with  grass  seeds,  to  be  mown  so  long  as  the  interests 
of  the  dairy  or  the  land  may  demand. 

A  professed  grain-grower,  or  an  English  farmer, 
would  smile  at  such  an  unstudied  rotation  ;  but  I 
name  it  in  all  'confidence,  as  one  adapted  to  dairy 


132  MY  FARM. 

purposes,  upon  lands  which  need  recuperation.  It  is, 
in  fact,  a  succession  of  two  fallow  crops,  and  with 
proper  culture  and  dressings,  will  insure  accumulat 
ing  fertility. 

Such  a  simple  course  of  green  cropping  is,  more 
over,  admirably  adapted  to  the  system  of  soiling, 
which,  upon  all  light  and  smooth  lands,  adapted  to 
dairy  purposes,  in  the  neighborhood  of  towns,  must 
sooner  or  later  become  the  prevailing  method ;  and  this, 
— because  it  is  economic, — because  it  is  sure,  and  be 
cause  it  supplies  fourfold  more  of  enriching  material 
than  belongs  to  any  other  system.  I  am  not  writing 
a  didactic  book,  or  offering  any  challenge  to  the 
agricultural  critics  (who,  I  am  afraid,  are  as  full  of 
their  little  jealousies  as  the  literary  critics), — else  T 
would  devote  a  full  chapter  to  this  theory  of  soiling, 
and  press  strongly  what  I  believe  to  be  its  advan 
tages. 

The  reader  is  spared  this  ;  but  he  must  pardon 
me  a  little  fanciful  illustration  of  the  subject,  in 
which  I  have  sometimes  indulged,  and  which  may, 
possibly,  at  a  future  day,  become  real. 

An  Illustration  of  Soiling. 

FROM  the  eighty-acre  flat  below — so  like  a  car 
pet,  with  its  checkered  growth — I  order  every 
line  of  division  fence  to  be  removed  :  the  best  of  the 


CROPS   AND  PROFITS  133 

material  being  kept  in  reserve  for  making  good  the 
border  fences,  and  the  remainder  cut,  split,  and  piled 
for  the  fire.  The  neighbors,  who  cling  to  the  old 
system  of  two-acre  lots,  and  pinched  door-yards, 
open  their  eyes  and  mouths  very  widely  at  this. 
The  novelty,  like  all  novelties  in  a  quiet  country 
region,  is  at  once  astounding  and  oppressive.  As  if 
the  parish  parson  were  suddenly  to  come  out  in  the 
red  stockings  of  a  cardinal,  or  a  sober-sided  select 
man  to  appear  on  the  highway  without  some  import 
ant  article  of  his  dress. 

I  fancy  two  or  three  astute  old  gentlemen  lean 
ing  over  the  border  fence,  as  the  work  of  demolition 
goes  on. 

"  The  Squire '  s  makin'  this  ere  farm  inter  a  pa 
rade-ground,  a'n't  he  ?  "  says  one ;  and  there  is  a 
little,  withering,  sarcastic  laugh  of  approval. 

Presently,  another  is  charged  with  a  reflection 
which  he  submits  in  this  shape  :  "  Ef  a  crittur  breaks 
loose  in  sich  a  rannge  as  that,  I  raether  guess  he'll 
have  a  time  on't."  And  there  is  another  chirrupy 
laugh,  and  significant  noddings  are  passed  back  and 
forth  between  the  astute  old  gentlemen — as  if  they 
were  mandarin  images,  and  nodded  by  reason  of  the 
gravity  of  some  concealed  dead  weight — (as  indeed 
they  do). 

A  third  suggests  that  "  there  woant  be  no  great 


134  MY  FARM. 

expense  for  diggin'  o'  post  holes,"  which  remark  in 
so  obviously  sound,  that  it  is  passed  by  in  silence. 

The  clearance,  however,  goes  forward  swim 
mingly.  The  new  breadth  which  seems  given  to  the 
land  as  the  dwarfish  fields  disappear  one  after 
another,  develops  a  beauty  of  its  own.  The  Yellow- 
weeds,  and  withered  wild-grasses,  which  had  clung 
under  the  shelter  of  the  fences,  even  with  the  best 
care,  are  all  shorn  away.  The  tortuous  and  irregu 
lar  lines  which  the  frosts  had  given  to  the  reeling 
platoons  of  rails,  perplex  the  eye  no  more. 

Near  to  the  centre  of  these  opened  fields  is  a 
great  feeding-shed,  one  hundred  feet  by  forty,  its 
ridge  high,  and  the  roof  sloping  away  in  swift  pitch 
on  either  side  to  lines  of  posts,  rising  eight  feet  only 
from  the  ground.  The  gables  are  covered  in  with 
rough  material,  in  such  shape  as  to  leave  three  sim 
ple  open  arches  at  either  end  ;  the  middle  opening, — 
high  and  broad,  so  that  loaded  teams  may  pass 
beneath ;  the  two  flanking  arches, — lower,  and  open 
ing  upon  two  ranges  of  stalls  which  sweep  down  on 
either  side  the  building.  These  stalls  are  so  dis 
posed  that  the  cattle  are  fed  directly  from  carts* 
passing  around  the  exterior.  Behind  either  range  of 
cattle  is  a  walk  five  feet  broad ;  and  between  these 
walks, — an  open  space  sixteen  feet  wide,  traversing 
the  whole  length  of  the  building,  and  serving  at  once 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  135 

as  manure  pit,  and  gangway  for  the  teams  which 
deposit  from  time  to  time  their  contributions  of 
muck  and  turf.  Midway  of  this  central  area  is  a 
covered  cistern,  from  which,  as  occasion  demands, 
the  drainage  of  the  stalls  may  be  pumped  up  to 
drench  the  accumulating  stock  of  fertilizing  material. 

This  simple  building,  which  serves  as  the  summer 
quarters  of  the  dairy,  is  picturesque  in  its  outline ; 
for  I  know  no  reason  why  economy  should  abjure 
grace,  or  why  farm  construction  should  be  uncouth 
or  tawdry. 

A  small  pasture-close,  with  strong  fencing — 
with  gates  that  will  not  swag,  and  with  abundance 
of  running  water,  supplied  from  the  hills,  serves  as 
an  exercising  ground  for  the  cows  for  two  hours 
each  day.  Othertimes,  throughout  the  growing  sea 
son,  they  belong  in  the  open  and  airy  stalls.  The 
crops  which  are  to  feed  them,  are  pushing  luxuri 
antly  within  a  stone's  throw  of  their  quarters.  An 
active  man  with  a  sharp  scythe,  a  light  horse-cart 
and  Canadian  pony,  will  look  after  the  feeding  of  a 
herd  of  fifty,  with  time  to  spare  for  milking  and  stall 
cleaning. 

From  the  tenth  of  May  to  the  first  of  June,  per 
haps  nothing  will  contribute  so  much  to  a  full  flow 
of  milk,  as  the  fresh-springing  grass  upon  some  out 
lying  pasture  on  the  hills.  After  this,  the  cows 


136  MY  FARM. 

take  up  their  regular  summer  quarters  in  the  build 
ing  I  have  roughly  indicated.  From  the  first  to  the 
tenth  of  June,  there  may  be  heavy  cuttings  of  winter 
rye  ;  from  the  tenth  of  June  to  the  twentieth,  the 
lucerne  (than  which  no  better  soiling  crop  can  be 
found)  is  in  full  season ;  after  the  twentieth,  clover 
and  orchard  grass  are  in  their  best  condition,  and 
retain  their  succulence  up  to  the  first  week  in  July, 
when,  in  ordinary  seasons,  the  main  reliance — maize 
which  was  sown  in  mid- April,  is  fit  for  the  scythe. 
Succeeding  crops  of  this,  keep  the  mangers  of  the 
cows  full,  up  to  an  early  week  in  October.  After 
ward  may  come  cuttings  of  late-sown  barley,  or  the 
leaves  of  the  Mangel,  or  carrot-tops,  with  which,  as 
a  bonne  louche,  the  cattle  are  withdrawn  to  their 
winter  quarters,  for  their  dietary  of  cut-feed,  oil-cake, 
occasional  bran  and  roots. 

They  leave  behind  them  in  their  summer  banquet 
ing  house,  a  little  Rhigi  of  fertilizing  material — not 
exposed  to  storms,  neither  too  dry  nor  too  moist,  and 
of  an  unctuous  fatness,  which  will  make  sundry  sur 
rounding  fields,  in  the  next  season,  carry  a  heavier 
burden  than  ever  of  purple  Mangel,  or  of  shining 
maize-leaves. 

I  perceive,  too,  very  clearly,  in  furtherance  of  the 
illustration,  that  one  acre  will  produce  as  much  nu 
tritive  food,  under  this  system,  as  four  acres  under 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  137 

the  old  plan  of  waste — by  poaching — and  by  expos- 
ure  of  all  manurial  material  to  the  fierce  beat  of  the 
sun,  and  to  the  washings  of  rain  storms.  I  perceive 
that  the  land,  as  well  as  cattle,  are  all  fairly  in  hand, 
and  better  under  control.  If  at  any  time  the  season, 
or  the  market,  should  indicate  a  demand  for  some 
special  crop,  I  am  not  disturbed  by  any  apprehension 
that  this  or  that  enclosure  may  be  needed  for  graz 
ing,  and  so,  bar  the  use.  I  perceive  that  a  well-regu 
lated  system  must  govern  all  the  farm  labor,  and 
that  there  will  be  no  place  for  that  looseness  of 
method,  and  carelessness  about  times  and  details, 
which  is  invited  by  the  old  way  of  turning  cattle 
abroad  to  shirk  for  themselves. 

No  timid  team  will  be  thrashed,  in  order  to  wipe 
the  fence  posts  with  the  clattering  whiffletree,  at  the 
last  bout  around  the  headlands.  There  will  be  no 
worrying  of  the  Buckeye  in  old  and  weedy  corners  ; 
not  a  reed  or  a  Golden-rod  can  wave  anywhere  in 
triumph.  The  eye  sweeps  over  one  stretch  of  luxu 
riant  field,  where  no  foot  of  soil  is  wasted.  The 
crops,  in  long  even  lines,  are  marked  only  by  the 
successive  stages  of  their  growth,  and  by  their  color 
ing.  There  are  no  crooked  rows,  no  gores,  no  gath 
erings. 

If  the  reader  has  ever  chanced  to  sail  upon  a 
Bummer's  day  up  the  river  Seine,  he  will  surely  re- 


138  MY  FARM. 

member  the  beautiful  checker-work  of  crops,  wliich 
shine,  in  lustrous  green,  on  either  bank  beyond  the 
old  Norman  city  of  Rouen.     Before  yet  the  quaint 
and  gorgeous  towers  of  the  town  have  gone  down  in 
the  distance,  these  newer  beauties  of  the  cleanly  cul 
tivated  shore-land  challenge  his  wonder  and  admira 
tion.     I  name  the  scene  now,  because  it  shows  a  cul 
tivation  without  enclosures  ;  nothing  but  a  traditional 
line— which  some  aged  poplar,  or  scar  on  the  chalk 
cliff  marks, — between  adjoining  proprietors ;  a  belt 
of  wheat  is  fringed  with  long-bearded  barley ;  and 
next,  the    plume-like    tufts   of    the  French   trefoil, 
make  a  glowing  band  of  crimson.     A  sturdy  peas 
ant  woman,  in  wooden   sabots,  is  gathering   up   a 
bundle  of  the  trefoil  to  carry  to  her  pet  cow,  under 
the  lee  of  the  stone  cottage  that  nestles  by  the  river's 
bank. 

And  I  indulge  my  fancy  with  the  idea  of  some 
weazen-faced  New  England  farmer  looking  down 
upon  all  this  from  some  shattered  loop-hole  of  the 
wrecked  chateau  Gaillard,  and  saying — "  Gosh,  ef  a 
crittur  were  to  break  loose,  I  guess  they'd  have  a 
time  on't." 

There  are  some  things  we  New  England  farmers 
have  not  learned  yet. 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  139 

An  Old  Orchard. 

A    CERTAIN  proportion  of  mossy,  ragged  orch- 
XJL      arding  belongs  to  almost  every  New  Eng 
land  farm.    My  own,  in  this  respect,  was  no  exception ; 
if  exceptional  at  all,  the    exception  lay  in  the  fact 
that  its  orcharding  was  less  ragged  and  mossy  than 
most ;   the  trees  were  also,  many  of  them,  grafted 
with  sorts  approved  twenty  years  ago.     Eight  acres 
of  a  somewhat   gravelly  declivity,  were  devoted  to 
this  growth,  of  which  four  were  in  apple  trees,  two 
in  cherries,  and  two  in  pears.     Intervals  of  two  acres 
each,  on  either  side  the  cherries,  of  unoccupied  land, 
were  in  the  old  time  planted  respectively  with  plums 
and  peaches.     Of  these,  only  a  few  ragged  stumps, 
or  fitful  and  black-knotted  shoots,  remained.     Their 
life  as  well  as  their  fruitfulness  had  gone  by  ;  and  I 
only  knew  of  them  through  the  plaintive  laments  of 
many  an  old-time  visitor,  who  tantalized  me  with  his 
tales  of  the  rare  abundance  of  luscious  stone-fruits, 
which  once  swept  down  the  hillside. 

The  whole  enclosure  of  twelve  acres  had  relapsed 
into  a  wild  condition.  The  turf  was  promiscuously 
an  array  of  tussocks  of  wild-grass,  dwarfed  daisies, 
struggling  sorrel,  with  here  and  there  a  mullein 
lifting  its  yellow  head,  and  domineering  over  the 
lesser  wild  growth.  Occasional  clumps  of  hickory, 


140  MY  FARM. 

or  of  wild-cherry,  had  shot  up,  and  exhibited  a 
succulence  and  vigor  which  did  not  belong  to  the 
cultivated  trees. 

And  now  I  am  going  to  describe  fully— keeping 
nothing  back— the  manner  in  which  I  dealt  with  this 
wilderness  of  orchard.  It  was  not  in  many  respects 
the  best  way ;  but  the  record  of  errors  in  so  expert- 
mental  a  matter,  often  carries  as  good  a  lesson  as  the 
record  of  successes.  This  is  as  true  in  st;ite-craft  as 
with  old  orcharding. 

First,  I  extirpated  every  tree  which  was  not  a 
fruit  tree — with  the  exception  of  one  lordly  sugar 
maple  at  the  foot  of  the  declivity,  and  standing 
within  one  of  the  unoccupied  belts.  Its  stately, 
compact  head,  shading  a  full  half  acre  of  ground, 
still  crowns  the  view.  I  am  aware  that  it  is  an  agri 
cultural  enormity.  The  mowers  complain  that  the 
broken  limbs,  torn  down  by  ice  storms,  are  a  pest ; 
the  tenant  complains  of  its  deep  shade  ;  one  or  two 
neighboring  sawyers  have  made  enticing  proposi 
tions  for  its  stalwart  bole,  yet  I  cannot  forego  my 
respect  for  its  united  age  and  grace. 

With  this  exception,  I  made  full  clearance,  and 
turned  under,  by  careful  ploughing,  all  the  wild  sod. 
I  dressed  the  whole  field  heavily  with  such  fertilizers 
as  could  be  brought  together,  from  home  resources 
and  from  town  stables,  with  certain  addenda  of  I 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  141 

and  phosphates.  I  removed  all  trees  in  a  dying  con« 
dition,  of  which  there  were  at  least  twenty  per  cent, 
of  the  gross  number  ;  I  pruned  away  all  dead  limbs, 
all  interlacing  boughs,  and  swamps  of  shoots  from 
the  roots.  The  mosses,  cocoons,  and  scales  of  old 
bark  were  carefully  scraped  from  the  trunks  and 
larger  limbs,  which  were  then  washed  thoroughly 
with  a  strong  solution  of  potash.  Even  at  this  stage 
of  the  proceedings,  I  felt  almost  repaid  by  the  air  of 
neatness  and  cleanliness  which  the  old  orchard  wore ; 
and  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  in  regard  to  very  many 
of  the  trees,  it  was  all  the  repayment  I  have  ever 
received. 

Among  the  apple  trees  was  a  large  number  of 
that  old  favorite,  the  Newtown  pippin ;  and  these, 
I  am  sorry  to  say,  were  the  most  mossy  and  dilapi 
dated  of  all ;  nor  did  they  improve.  No  scrapings 
or  primings  tempted  them  to  any  luxuriance  of 
growth.  One  by  one  they  have  been  cut  away,  until 
now  only  two  remain.  The  nurserymen  tell  us  that 
the  tree  is  not  adapted  to  the  soil  and  climate  of 
New  England.  I  can  confirm  their  testimony  with 
unction. 

There  was,  also,  a  stalwart  company  of  trees 
bearing  that  delightful  little  dessert  fruit — the  Lady 
apple.  And  I  think  my  pains  added  somewhat  to 
their  thrift ;  they  are  sturdy,  and  full  of  leaves  every 


142  MY  FARM. 

Bummer;  and  every  Ma}',  in  its  latter  days,  sees 
them  a  great  pyramid  of  blooming  and  "blushing 
white.  But  after  the  bloom,  the  beauty  is  never 
fully  restored.  There  is  fruit  indeed,  but  small, 
pinched,  pierced  with  curculio  stings,  bored  through 
and  through  with  the  worm  of  the  apple-moth  ;  and 
over  and  above  all,  every  apple  is  patched  with  a 
mouldy  blight  which  forbids  full  growth,  and  gives 
it,  with  its  brilliant  red  cheek,  a  falsified  promise  of 
excellence.  I  have  found  in  the  books  no  illustration 
of  this  peculiar  distemper  which  attacks  the  Lady 
apple ;  but  in  my  orchard,  in  the  month  of  Kovem- 
ber,  the  illustrations  abound. 

The  Esopus  Spitzenberg,  that  red,  spicy  bit  of 
apple-flesh,  had  its  representatives  among  the  old 
trees  which  came  under  my  care ;  I  may  give  it  the 
credit  of  showing  grateful  cognizance  of  the  labor 
bestowed.  The  trees  thrived  ;  they  are  thrifty  now ; 
the  bloom  is  like  that  of  a  gigantic,  out-spread 
Weigelia.  The  fruit  too  (such  as  the  curculio 
spares),  is  full  and  round  ;  but  there  is  not  a  speci 
men  of  it  which  is  not  bored  through  by  the  inevit 
able  grub  of  the  apple-moth. 

Besides  the  varieties  I  have  particularized,  there 
were  the  Tallman  and  Pound  Sweetings  sparsely 
represented  ;  and  the  Rhode  Island  Greening,  which, 
I  will  fairly  admit,  has  made  a  better  struggle 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  143 

against  adverse  influences,  than  any  winter  fruit  I 
have  named.  So  fair  a  struggle,  indeed,  that  if  I 
could  only  forego  the  visitations  of  the  curculio  and 
of  the  moth,  I  might  hope  for  an  old-time  fulness  of 
crop.  The  Strawberry  apple,  by  reason,  I  think,  of 
its  early  maturity  (and  the  same  is  true  of  the  Red 
Astrachan),  has  shown  a  more  kindly  recognition  of 
care  than  the  later  fruits.  The  moth,  if  it  attacks, 
does  not  destroy  it.  I  count  upon  its  brilliant  color- 
Log,  and  its  piquant  acidity  in  the  first  days  of 
August,  as  surely  as  I  count  upon  the  rains  which 
follow  the  in-gathering  of  the  hay.  There  remained 
a  few  trees  of  various  old-fashioned  sorts,  such  as  the 
Fall-Pippin,  the  Pearmain,  the  Cheseborough  Rus 
set,  and  the  black  Gilliflower,  which  have  shown 
little  thrift,  and  borne  no  fruit  of  which  a  modest 
man  would  be  inclined  to  boast. 

In  short,  there  appeared  so  little  promise  of 
eminent  results,  that  after  two  or  three  years  I  gave 
over  all  special  culture  of  the  majority  of  the  trees, 
and  devoting  the  land  to  grass,  left  them  to  struggle 
against  the  new  sod  as  they  best  could.  Fruit 
growers  and  nursery  men  will  object  that  the  trial 
was  not  complete  ;  and  they  will,  with  good  reason, 
aver  that  no  fruit  trees  can  make  successful  struggle 
against  firmly  rooted  grass.  From  all  tilled  crops, 
within  whose  lines  there  are  spaces  of  the  brown 


144  MY  FARM. 

soil  subject  to  the  dews  and  atmospheric  influences, 
trees  will  steal  the  nourishment ;  but  grass,  with  its 
serried  spear-blades  covering  the  ground,  steals  from 
the  tree.  An  open  fallow  with  crops  in  the  inter 
vals,  would  certainly,  if  sustained  for  a  *period  of 
years,  have  contributed  far  greater  thrift  than  the 
trees  now  possess.  But  an  open  fallow  is  no  protec 
tion  against  the  curculio  and  the  apple  moth.  If 
there  be  a  protection  so  simple,  and  of  such  propor 
tions  as  to  admit  of  its  application  to  a  marketable 
crop,  I  am  not  yet  informed  of  it.  A  few  worthy 
old  gentlemen  of  my  acquaintance,  catch  a  few  mil 
lers  in  a  deep-necked  bottle,  baited  with  molasses, 
which  is  hung  from  the  limbs  of  some  favorite  tree 
overshadowing  their  pig-pen ;  and  they  point  with 
pride  to  the  results.  I  certainly  admire  their  suc 
cesses,  but  have  not  been  tempted  to  emulate  them, 
on  the  extended  scale  which  the  mossy  orchard 
would  have  afforded. 

Some  persistent  amateurs  and  pains-taking  gentle 
men  do,  I  know,  succeed  in  making  the  young  fruit 
of  a  few  favorite  plum  trees  distasteful  to  the  cur 
culio,  by  repeated  ejections  of  a  foul  mixture  of 
tobacco  and  whale-oil  soap, — by  which  the  tree  has 
a  weekly  bath,  and  an  odor  of  uncleanness.  But  in 
view  of  a  large  orchard,  where  apples  make  a  leafy 
pyramid  measured  by  cubic  yards,  and  cherries  carry 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  145 

their  fine  fruit  sixty  feet  in  the  air,  there  would  be 
needed  a  projectile  of 'dirty  water  that  would  rival 
Alderman  Mechi's,  of  Tip-tree  Hall. 

It  is  far  easier  to  accomplish  successful  results 
with  an  old  orchard  of  native,  wild  growth,  than 
with  one  of  grafted  fruit ; — even  as  the  Doctors  find 
that  a  reprobate  who  has  fallen  away  from  grace  and 
early  good  conduct,  is  a  worse  subject  for  reforma 
tion,  than  an  unkempt  savage. 

The  grafted  tree  wants  an  abounding  luxuriance 
of  material,  from  which  to  elaborate  its  exceeding 
size  and  flavor ;  and  if  by  neglect,  this  material  be 
wanting,  the  organs  of  its  wonderful  living  labora 
tory  shrink — from  inaction,  and  part  with  a  share  of 
their  vitality.  The  native  tree,  on  the  other  hand, 
having  no  special  call  upon  it  for  the  elaboration  of 
daintier  juices  than  go  to  supply  a  cider  vat,  has 
steady  normal  development  under  all  its  mosses,  and 
retains  a  stock  of  reserved  vitality,  which,  if  you 
humor  with  good  tillage  and  dressings,  and  point 
with  good  grafts,  will  carry  a  good  tale  to  the  apple 
bin. 

On  the  very  orchard  I  have  named,  were  some 
two  or  three  uncouth,  lumbering,  unpromising  trees, 
yet  sound  as  a  nut  to  their  outermost  twigs,  which 
the  simple  dressings,  tillage,  and  washings  that  were 
Bestowed  somewhat  vainly  upon  the  others,  quick- 


146  MY  FARM. 

ened  into  a  marvellous  luxuriance ;  and  the  few 
shoots  I  set  upon  them  are  now  supplying  the  best 
fruit  of  the  orchard.  Even  these,  however,  are  not 
free  from  the  pestilent  stings  which  the  swarms  of 
winged  visitors  inflict  upon  every  crop. 

It  is  very  questionable  if  ploughing  is,  upon  the 
whole,  the  best  way  of  reinstating  a  neglected  and 
barren  orchard.  It  is  a  harsh  method ;  trees  strug 
gling  to  keep  up  a  good  appearance  under  .adverse 
circumstances — like  men — use  every  imaginable  shift ; 
their  little  spongiole  feeders  go  off  on  wide  search  ; 
they  are  multiplied  by  the  diversity  of  labor ;  and 
the  plough  cuts  into  them  cruelly,  making  crude 
butcher  work  where  the  nicest  surgery  is  demanded. 
I  am  inclined  to  believe  that  a  deep  trench,  sunk 
around  each  tree,  at  the  distance  of  from  eight  to  ten 
feet  from  the  trunk,  and  filled  with  good  lime  com 
post,  is  the  surest  way  of  redeeming  a  neglected 
orchard.  Even  then,  however,  the  turf  should  be 
carefully  removed  within  the  enclosed  circle,  that  the 
air  and  its  influences  may  have  penetrative  power 
upon  the  soil.  The  method  is  Baconian  (fodiendo  et 
aperiendo  terram  circa  radices  ipsarum)  ;  it  is 
thorough,  but  it  is  expensive ;  and  a  farmer  must 
consider  well — if  his  trees,  soil,  market,  and  the 
populousness  of  the  insect  world  will  warrant  it. 

For  my  own  part,  so  far  as  regards  a  market  crop 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  147 

of  winter  fruit,  I  have  decided  very  thoroughly  in 
the  negative.  Not  that  it  cannot  be  grown  with 
sufficient  care ;  but  that  it  can  be  grown  far  more 
cheaply,  and  of  a  better  quality,  in  other  regions. 
Summer  fruit  is  not  so  long  exposed  to  the  depreda 
tions  of  insects,  nor  will  it  bear  distant  transporta 
tion.  Its  freshness  too,  gives  it  a  virtue,  and  a 
relishy  smack,  which  warrant  special  pains-taking. 

I  find  in  an  old  book  of  Gervase  Markham's, 
"  The  Countrie  Farme  "  (based  upon  Liebault),  that 
the  apple  tree  "  loveth  to  have  the  inward  part  of  his 
wood  moist  and  sweatie,  so  you  must  give  him  his 
lodging  in  a  fat,  black,  and  moist  ground  ;  and  if  it 
be  planted  in  a  gravelly  and  sandie  ground,  it  must 
be  helped  with  watering,  and  batling  with  dung  and 
smal  moulde  in  the  time  of  Autumne.  It  liveth  and 
continueth  in  all  desirable  good  estate  in  the  hills 
and  mountains  where  it  may  have  fresh  moisture, 
being  the  thing  that  it  searcheth  after,  but.  even 
there  it  must  stand  in  the  open  face  of  the  South." 

The  ruling  is  good  now,  with  the  exception  per 
haps  of  exposure  to  the  South,  in  regions  liable  to 
late  spring  frosts.  And  whatever  may  be  the  advan 
tages  of  soil  and  of  position,  let  no  man  hope  for 
large  commercial  results  in  apple-growing  at  the 
East,  without  reckoning  upon  as  thorough  and  as 
siduous  culture  as  he  would  give  to  his  corn  crop  ;— 


148  MY  FARM. 

as  well  as  a  constant  battle  with  the  borers  and  bark 
lice, — intermittent  campaigns  against  the  caterpillar 
and  canker  worm,  and  a  great  Tune  raid  upon  the 
whole  guerrilla  band  of  curculios. 

The  cherries,  a  venerable  company  of  trees,  have 
borne  the  scrapings  and  dressings  with  great  equa 
nimity, — being  too  old  to  be  pushed  into  any  wanton 
luxuriance,  and  too  sedate  to  show  any  great  exhil 
aration  from  the  ammoniacal  salts.  Pruning  is  not 
much  recommended  in  the  books ;  yet  I  have  suc 
ceeded  in  restoring  a  good  rounded  head  of  fruit- 
bearing  wood  by  severe  amputation  of  begummed 
and  black-stained  limbs  ;  this  is  specially  true  of  the 
Black-hearts  and  Tartarians, — of  many  of  which  I 
have  made  mere  pollards. 

It  is  a  delicate  fruit  to  be  counted  among  farm 
crops,  and  hands  used  to  the  plough  are  apt  to 
grapple  it  too  harshly.  Pliny  says  it  should  be  eaten 
fresh  from  the  tree ;  and  it  is  as  true  of  our  best 
varieties,  as  it  was  of  the  Julian  cherry  in  the  first 
century.  It  will  not  tolerate  long  jogging  in  a  coun 
try  wagon  ;  it  will  not  "  keep  over  "  for  a  market; 
and  between  these  drawbacks,  and  the  birds — who 
troop  in  flocks  to  the  June  feast, — and  the  boy 
pickers — who  take  toll  as  they  climb, — and  the  out 
standing  twigs,  which  shake  defiance  to  all  ladders 
and  climbers — I  think  he  is  a  fortunate  man  who 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  149 

can  market  from  forty-year-old  trees,  one  bushel  in 
three. 

Of  the  position  for  a  cherry  orchard,  and  of  its 
likings  in  the  way  of  soil  and  climate,  nothing  better 
can  be  said,  than  Palladius  wrote  fourteen  centuries 
ago :  "  Cerasus  amat  cadi  statum  frigidum^  solum, 
vero  positionis  humectce.  In  tepidis  regionibus  parva 
movenit.  Calidum  non  potest  sustinere.  Montana, 
vel  in  cottibus  constituta  regione  Icetatur"  * — which 
means  that — cherries  want  a  cool  air  and  moist  land. 
Heat  hurts  them,  and  makes  them  small,  and  they 
delight  in  a  hilly  country. 

The  Pears. 

rTTHE  condition  of  the  pears  was  far  worse  than 
JL  that  of  either  cherries  or  apples.  Had  they 
been  seedlings  of  the  native  fruit,  they  would  have 
shown  more  stalwart  size,  and  better  promise  from 
good  treatment.  There  was,  I  remember,  a  long 
weakly  row  of  the  Madeleine,  shrouded  in  lichens, 
and  with  their  lank,  frail  limbs  ah1  tipped  with  dead 
wood.  It  is  an  enticing  fruit,  by  reason  of  its  early 
ripening,  and  its  pleasant  sprightly  flavor;  but  ita 
persistent  inclination  to  rot  at  the  core,  in  most  soils, 
makes  it  a  very  unprofitable  one.  I  forthwith  cui 

*  Lib.  xi..  Tit.  12. 


150  MY  FARM. 

away  their  dying,  straggling  tops,  and  by  repeated 
diggings  about  the  roots,  stimulated  a  growth  of 
new  wood,  upon  which  luxuriant  grafts  are  now  (six- 
years  after  commencement  of  operations)  bearing 
full  crops  of  more  approved  varieties.  The  Jargo 
nelles  were  almost  past  cure.  Long  struggle  with 
neglect  had  nearly  paralyzed  their  vegetative  power ; 
but  by  setting  a  few  scions  of  such  rank  growers  as 
the  Buffum  upon  the  most  promising  of  the  purple 
shoots,  I  have  met  with  fair  success.  The  Jargo 
nelle  itself,  I  may  remark  in  passing,  seems  to  me 
not  fitly  appreciated  in  the  race  after  new  French 
varieties.  It  has  a  juiciness,  a  crispness,  and  a  vinous 
flavor,  which,  however  scorned  by  the  later  pomolo- 
gists,  are  exceedingly  grateful  on  a  hot  August 
day. 

There  was  a  great  rank  of  Virgouleuse  (white 
Doyenne) — pinched  in  their  foliage,  with  bark 
knotted  like  that  of  forest  trees,  and  bearing  only 
cracked,  meagre,  woody  fruit.  For  New  England  it 
is  a  lost  variety.  Happily,  however,  its  boughs  take 
grafts  with  great  kindliness ;  and  I  have  now  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  fair  full  heads  upon  every  one  of 
these  out-lived  stocks,  of  the  Bartlett,  Flemish 
Beauty,  Bonne  de  Jersey,  and  Lawrence. 

There  were  not  a  few  Buffum  trees  in  the  ranks, 
which  were  in  a  state  of  most  extraordinary  dilapi- 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  151 

dation ;  their  trunks  white  with  moss,  their  upright 
shoots  completely  covered  with  a  succession  of 
crooked,  gnarled,  mossy  fruit  spurs,  that  crinkled 
under  the  scraper  like  dried  brambles  ;  the  extremity 
of  every  upright  bough  was  reduced  to  a  shrivelled 
point  of  blackened  and  sun-dried  wood,  and  the  fruit 
so  dwarfed  as  to  puzzle  the  most  astute  of  the  po- 
mologists. 

I  made  a  clean  sweep  of  the  old  fruit  spurs, 
— docked  the  limbs, — scraped  the  bark  to  the  quick, 
— washed  with  an  unctuous  soapy  mixture, — dug 
about  and  enriched  the  roots,  and  in  three  years' 
time,  there  were  new  leading  shoots,  all  garnished 
with  fresh  fruit  spurs — which,  in  September  fairly 
broke  away  with  the  weight  of  the  glowing  pears. 

The  Seckels,  of  which  there  were  several  trees, 
have  not  come  so  promptly  '  to  time.'  The  fer 
tilizers  and  the  cleaning  process,  which  have  given 
rampant  vigor  to  the  Buffums,  have  scarce  lent  to  the 
dwindled  Seckels  any  appreciable  increase  of  size  or 
of  succulence.  The  same  is  true,  in  a  less  degree,  of 
certain  old  stocks,  grafted  some  fifteen  years  ago 
with  Bonne  de  Jersey,  and  since  left  to  struggle 
with  choking  mosses,  and  wild  sod. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  enumerate  all  the  varieties 
which  I  found  stifling  in  my  orchard, — from  the 
bright  little  Harvest  pear  to  the  crimson-cheeked 


iui,  MY  FARM. 

Bon-Chretien.  Here  and  there  I  have  religiously 
guarded  some  old  variety  of  Sugar-pear,  or  of  Berga- 
mot, — by  reason  of  the  pleasant  associations  of  their 
names,  and  by  reason  of  an  old  fashioned  regard 
which  I  still  entertain  for  their  homeliness  of  flavor 
I  sometimes  have  a  visit  from  a  pear-fancier,  who 
boasts  of  his  fifty  or  hundred  varieties, — who  con 
founds  me  with  his  talk  of  a  Beurre  St.  Nicholas,  or 
a  Beurre  of  Waterloo,  and  a  Doyenne  Goubault,  or  a 
Doyenne  Robin ;  I  try  to  listen,  as  if  I  appreciated 
his  learning ;  but  I  do  not.  My  tastes  are  simple 
in  this  direction;  and  I  feel  a  blush  of  conscious 
humility  when  he  comes  upon  one  of  my  old-time 
trees,  staggering  under  a  load  of  fruit — which  are 
not  in  the  books.  It  is  very  much  as  if  a  gentleman 
of  the  Universities,  full  of  his  book  lore,  were  to 
stroll  into  my  library, — talking  of  his  Dibdins,  and 
Elzevirs,  and  Brunets  ; — with  what  a  blush  I  should 
see  his  eye  fall  upon  certain  thumb-worn  copies  of 
Tom  Jones,  or  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield,  or  Defoe  ! 

Yet  these  gentlemen  of  the  special  knowledges 
have  their  uses — the  pear-mongers  with  the  rest. 
Not  a  season  passes,  but  they  discover  and  label  for 
us  a  host  of  worthless  varieties.  I  only  object  to  the 
scornful  way  in  which  they  ignore  a  great  many 
established  favorites,  which  people  will  persist  in 
buying  and  eating.  I  remember  that  I  once  had  the 


CR3PS  AND   PROFITS.  153 

hardihood,  in  a  little  group  of  pomological  gentle 
men,  to  express  a  modest  opinion  in  praise  of  the 
flavor  of  the  Bartlett  pear. 

The  gentlemen  did  not  deign  a  reply ;  but  I  was 
looked  upon  very  much  as  a  greenhorn  might  be, 
who  at  a  political  caucus  should  venture  a  word  or 
two,  in  favor  of — honesty. 

Quince  stocks  for  pear  trees  have  their  advocates  ; 
and  there  has  been  a  very  pretty  war  between  the 
battlers  for  the  standards,  and  the  battlers  for  the 
dwarfs.  Having  made  trial  of  both,  and  considering 
that  most  human  opinions  are  fallible,  I  plant  myself 
upon  neutral  ground,  and  venture  to  affirm  that  each 
mode  of  culture  has  its  advantages.  There  are,  for 
instance,  varieties  of  the  pear,  which,  in  certain 
localities,  will  not  thrive,  or  produce  fair  specimens, 
without  incorporation  upon  the  quince  stock.  Such, 
in  my  experience,  are  the  Duchess  d'Angoulcme,  and 
the  Yicar  of  Winkfield.  The  finest  fruit  of  the  Belle 
Lucrative,  and  the  Bonne  de  Jersey,  I  also  invariably 
take  from  dwarf  growth. 

The  dwarf  trees,  however,  demand  very  special 
and  thorough  culture ;  if  the  season  is  dry,  they 
must  be  watered  ;  if  the  ground  is  baked,  it  must  be 
stirred.  I  look  upon  them  as  garden  pets,  which 
must  be  fondled  and  humored ;  and  like  other  pets, 
they  are  sure  to  be  attacked  by  noxious 
7* 


154  MY  FARM. 

They  take  the  leaf-blight  as  easily  as  a  child  takes 
the  mumps ;  they  are  capricious  and  uncertain— 
sometimes  repaying  you  for  your  care  well ;  and 
other  times,  dropping  all  their  fruit  in  a  green  state, 
iii  the  most  petulant  way  imaginable.  And  worst  of 
all,  after  two  or  three  years  of  devoted  nursing, 
without  special  cause,  and  with  all  their  leaves 
laughing  on  them,  some  group  of  two  or  three 
together — suddenly  die. 

Early  bearing,  and  brilliant  specimens  favor  the 
quince ;  but  hardiness,  long  life,  and  full  crops  favor 
the  pear  upon  its  own  roots.  If  a  man  plant  the 
latter,  he  must  needs  wait  for  the  fruit.  Moeris  puts 
it  very  prettily  in  the  Eclogue  : — 

"  Insere,  Daphni,  pyros :  carpeut  tua  poma  nepotes." 

But  if  a  man  with  only  a  few  perches  of  garden, 
and  with  an  aptitude  for  nursing,  desires  fruit  the  seo 
ond  or  third  year  after  planting,  let  him  by  all  means 
— plant  the  dwarfs.  Yet  even  then  his  success  is  un 
certain, — particularly  if  he  indulges  in  the  "latest 
varieties."  I  am  compelled  to  say  that  I  have  known 
several  cautious  old  gentlemen,  who — with  a  garden 
full  of  dwarf  trees, — have  been  seen  in  the  month  of 
September,  to  slip  into  a  fruit  shop  at  the  edge  of 
evening,  with  suspicious-looking,  limp  panniers  on 
their  arms.  Nay, — I  have  myself  met  them  returning 


CHOPS  AND  PROFITS.  155 

from  such  furtive  errand,  with  a  basket  laden  from 
the  fruiterer's  stock,  carefully  hidden  under  their 
skirts ;  and  I  have  gone  nay  way — (pretending  not  to 
see  it  all),  humming  to  myself, 


carpent  frua  poma  nepotes ! 


Want  of  success  in  orcharding  is  more  often 
attributable  to  want  of  care,  than  to  any  other  want 
whatever.  There  are,  indeed,  particular  belts  of 
land  which  seem  to  favor  the  apple, — where,  with 
only  moderate  cultivation,  they  are  free  from  leaf 
blight, — comparatively  free  from  insect  depredators, 
and  fruit  with  certainty.  There  are  other  regions, 
—and  these,  so  far  as  I  have  observed,  warm  soils 
inclining  to  a  sandy  or  gravelly  loam,  in  which  the 
apple  does  not  shoAv  vigor,  except  under  extraor 
dinary  attention,  and  in  which  the  whole  insect  tribe 
seems  doubly  pestiferous. 

The  pear  is  by  no  means  so  capricious ;  it  will 
thrive  in  a  heavy  loam  ;  it  will  thrive  in  light  sand ; 
the  borer  does  not  attack  its  root;  the  caterpillar 
moth  does  not  fasten  its  eggs  (or  very  rarely)  upon  its 
twigs ;  the  apple-moth  spares  a  large  proportion  of 
its  fruit.  But  even  the  pear,  without  care  and  culti 
vation,  will  disappoint ;  and  the  farmer  who  neglects 
any  crop,  will  find,  sooner  or  later,  that  whatever  is 
worth  planting,  is  worth  planting  well ;  whatever  is 


156  MY  FARM. 

worth  cultivating,  is  worth  cultivating  well ;  and 
that  nothing  is  worth  harvesting,  that  is  not  worth 
"harvesting  with  care. 

My  Garden. 

I  ENTER  upon  my  garden  by  a  little,  crazy, 
rustic  wicket,  over  which  a  Virginia  creeper  has 
tossed  itself  into  a  careless  tangle  of  festoons.  The 
entrance  is  overshadowed  by  a  cherry-tree,  which 
must  be  nearly  half  a  century  old,  and  which,  as  it 
filches  easily  very  much  of  the  fertilizing  material 
that  is  bestowed  upon  the  garden,  makes  a  weightier 
show  of  fruit  than  can  be  boasted  by  any  of  the 
orchard  company. 

A  broad  walk  leads  down  the  middle  of  the  gar 
den, — bordered  on  either  side  by  a  range  of  stout 
box,  and  interrupted  midway  of  its  length  by  a  box- 
edged  circle,  that  is  filled  and  crowned  with  one  cone- 
shaped  Norway-Spruce.  These  lines,  and  this  circlet 
of  idle  green,  are  its  only  ornamentation.  Easterly 
of  the  walk  is  a  sudden  terrace  slope,  stocked  with 
currants,  raspberries,  and  all  the  lesser  fruits,  in  a 
maze  of  lines  and  curves.  Westward  is  a  level 
open  space,  dovoted  to  long  parallel  lines  of  garden 
vegetables.  The  slope,  by  reason  of  its  surface 
and  its  crops,  is  subject  only  to  fork-culture ;  the 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  157 

western  half,  on  the  other  hand,  has  the  economy  of 
deep  and  thorough  trench-ploughing,  every  autumn 
and  spring. 

Nor  is  this  an  economy  to  be  overlooked  by  a 
farmer.  Very  many,  without  pretensions  to  that 
nicety  of  culture  which  is  supposed  to  belong  to  spade 
husbandry  alone,  so  overstock  their  gardens  with 
confused  and  intercepting  lines  of  fruit  shrubbery, 
and  perennial  herbs,  as  to  forbid  any  thorough  action 
of  the  plough.  By  the  simple  device,  however,  of 
giving  to  the  garden  the  shape  of  a  long  parallelo 
gram,  and  arranging  its  trees,  shrubbery,  and  walks, 
in  lines  parallel  with  its  length,  and  by  estab 
lishing  easy  modes  of  ingress  and  egress  at  either 
end,  the  plough  will  prove  a  great  economizer ;  and 
under  careful  handling,  will  leave  as  even  a  surface, 
and  as  fine  a  tilth  as  follows  the  spade.  I  make  this 
suggestion  in  the  interest  of  those  farmers  who  are 
compelled  to  measure  narrowly  the  cost  of  tillage, 
and  who  cannot  indulge  in  the  amateur  weakness  of 
wasted  labor. 

I  have  provided  also  a  leafy  protection  for  this 
garden  against  the  sweep  of  winds  from  the  north 
west  :  northward,  this  protection  consists  of  a  wild 
belt  of  tangled  growth — sumacs,  hickories,  cedars, 
wild-cherries,  oaks — separated  from  the  northern 
walk  of  the  garden,  by  a  trim  hedge-row  ^f  hemlock- 


158  MY  FARM. 

Bpruce.  This  tangled  belt  is  of  a  spontaneous 
growth,  and  has  shot  up  upon  a  strip  of  the  neg 
lected  pasture-land,  from  which,  seven  years  since,  T 
trenched  the  area  of  the  garden.  Thus  it  is  not  only1 
a  protection,  but  offers  a  pleasant  contrast  of  what 
the  whole  field  might  have  been,  with  what  the  gar 
den  now  is.  I  must  confess  that  I  love  these  savage 
waymarks  of  progressive  tillage — as  I  love  to  meet 
here  and  there,  some  stolid  old-time  thinker,  whom 
the  rush  of  modern  ideas  has  left  in  picturesque 
isolation. 

Time  and  again  some  enterprising  gardener  has 
begged  the  privilege  of  uprooting  this  strip  of  wild- 
ness,  and  trenching  to  the  skirt  of  the  wall  beyond 
it ;  but  I  have  guarded  the  waste  as  if  it  were  a 
crop  ;  the  cheewits  and  thrushes  make  their  nests 
undisturbed  there.  The  long,  firm  gravel-alley  which 
traverses  the  garden  from  north  to  south,  traverses 
also  this  bit  of  savage  shrubbery,  and  by  a  latticed 
gate,  opens  upon  smooth  grass-lands  beyond,  which 
are  skirted  Avith  forest. 

Within  this  tangle-wood,  I  have  set  a  few  graft- 
lings  upon  a  wild-crab,  and  planted  a  peach  or  two— 
only  to  watch  the  struggle  which  these  artificial 
people  will  make  with  their  wild  neighbors.  And 
so  various  is  the  growth  within  this  limited  belt,  that 
my  children  pick  there,  in  their  seasons, — luscious 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  159 

dew-berries,  huckleberries,  wild  raspberries,  bill- 
berries,  and  choke-cherries  ;  and  in  autumn,  gather 
bouquets  of  Golden-rod  and  Asters,  set  off  with  crim 
son  tufts  of  Sumac,  and  the  scarlet  of  maple  boughs. 
And  when  I  see  the  brilliancy  of  these,  and  smack 
the  delicate  flavor  of  the  wild-fruit,  it  makes  me 
doubt  if  our  progress  is,  after  all,  as  grand  as  it 
should  be,  or  as  we  vainly  believe  it  to  be ;  and  (to 
renew  ray  parallel) — it  seems  to  me  that  the  old-time 
and  gone-by  thinkers  may  possibly  have  given  us  as 
piquant,  and  marrowy  suggestions  upon  whatever 
subject  of  human  knowledge  they  touched,  as  the 
hot-house  philosophers  of  to-day.  I  never  open,  of  a 
Sunday  afternoon,  upon  the  yellowed  pages  of 
Jeremy  Taylor,  but  his  flavor  and  affluence,  and 
homely  wealth  of  allusions,  suggest  the  tangled  wild 
of  the  garden — with  its  starry  flowers,  its  piquant 
berries,  its  scorn  of  human  rulings,  its  unkempt  vig 
or,  its  boughs  and  tendrils  stretching  heaven-ward; 
and  I  never  water  a  reluctant  hill  of  yellowed 
cucumbers,  and  coax  it  with  all  manner  of  concen 
trated  fertilizers  into  bearing, — but  I  think  of  the 

elegant  education  of  the  dapper  Dr. ,  and  of 

the  sappy,  and  flavorless  results. 

To  the  westward  of  the  garden,  and  concealing  a 
decrepit  mossy  wall,  that  is  covered  with  blackberry 
vines  and  creepers,  is  the  flanking  shelter  of  another 


160  MY  FARM. 

hemlock  hedge  of  wanton  luxuriance.  A  cit;  gar 
den  could  never  yield  the  breadth  it  demand  ,  but 
upon  the  farm,  the  complete  and  graceful  projection 
it  gives,  is  well  purchased,  at  the  cost  of  a  few  feet 
of  land.  Kor  is  much  time  required  for  its  growth  ; 
five  years  since,  and  this  hedge  of  four  feet  in 
height,  by  two  hundred  yards  in  length,  was  all 
brought  away  from  the  wood  in  a  couple  of  market 
baskets. 

The  importance  of  garden  shelter  is  by  no  means 
enough  considered.  I  do  not  indeed  name  my  own 
method  as  the  best  to  be  pursued  ;  flanking  buildings 
or  high  enclosures  may  give  it  more  conveniently 
hi  many  situations  ;  a  steep,  sudden  hillside  may  give 
it  best  of  all ;  but  it  should  never  be  forgotten  that 
while  we  humor  the  garden  soil  with  what  the  plants 
and  trees  best  love,  we  should  also  give  their  foli 
age  the  protection  against  storms  which  they  covet ; 
and  which,  in  an  almost  equal  degree,  contributes  to 
their  luxuriance. 

To  the  dwarf  fruit,  as  well  as  to  the  grape,  this 
shelter  is  absolutely  essential ;  if  they  are  compelled 
to  fortify  against  aggressive  blasts, — they  may  do  it 
indeed ;  but  they  will,  in  this  way,  dissipate  a  large 
share  of  the  vitality  which  would  else  go  to  the  fruit. 
Young  cattle  may  bear  the  exposure  of  winter,  but 
they  will  be  pinched  under  it,  and  take  on  a  weazen 


CROPS  AND   PROFITS.  161 

look  of  age,  and  expend  a  great  stock  of  vital  energy 
hi  the  contest. 


Fine  Tilth  makes  Fine  Crops. 

WITH  a  good  situation,  the  secret  of  success 
with  garden  crops,  lies  in  the  richness  of 
the  soil,  and  in  its  deep  and  fine  tilth  ;  the  last  being 
far  oftener  wanting  than  the  former.  A  farm  crop 
of  potatoes  or  even  of  corn,  will  make  a  brave 
struggle  amid  coarse  nuggets  of  earth,  if  only  fertil 
izers  are  present ;  but  such  fine  feeders  as  belong  to 
the  garden  can  lay  no  hold  upon  them  ;  they  want 
delicate  diet.  Farmers  are  often  amazed  by  the 
extraordinary  vegetable  results  upon  the  sandy  soil 
of  a  city  dooryard,  which  they  would  count  com 
paratively  worthless  ;  not  considering,  that— aside 
from  the  shelter  of  brick  walls,  which  make  the  sun 
do  double  duty — the  productive  capacity  of  such  city 
gardens,  lies  very  much  in  the  extreme  and  almost 
perfect  comminution  of  the  soil. 

What  is  true  of  garden  earth,  is  true  also  of  its 
fertilizers ;  they  must  be  triturated,  fine,  easily  digest- 
ible.  Masses  of  unbroken  farm-yard  material  are 
no  more  suited  to  the  delicate  organization  of  gar 
den-plants,  than  a  roasted  side  of  bacon  is  suited  to 
a  child's  diet.  They  may  struggle  with  it  indeed. 


162  MY  FARM. 

Possibly  they  may  reduce  it  to  subjection  ;  but  their 
growth  will  be  rank  and  flavorless,  whatever  size 
they  may  gain. 

It  is  a  common  mistake  to  suppose  that  garden 
products  are  good  in  proportion  to  their  size.  The 
horticultural  societies  have  done  great  harm  in  bol 
stering  the  admiration  for  mere  grossness.  Smooth 
ness,  roundness,  perfect  development  of  all  the  parts, 
and  delicacy  of  flavor,  are  the  true  tests.  I  remem 
ber  once  offering  for  exhibition  a  little  tray  of  gar 
den  products,  in  which  every  fruit  and  vegetable — 
though  by  no  means  all  they  should  have  been — was 
perfect  in  outline,  well  developed,  free  from  every 
sting  of  insect  or  excrescence,  and  of  that  delicate 
and  tender  fibre  which  belongs  only  to  swift  and 
unchecked  growth ;  yet  my  poor  tray  was  over 
slaughed  entirely,  by  an  adjoining  show  of  monster 
vegetables,  with  warty  excrescences,  and  of  rank 
And  wholly  abnormal  development.  The  committee 
would  have  been  properly  punished  if  they  had  been 
compelled  to  eat  them. 

In  the  same  way,  and  with  equal  fatuity,  the 
societies  for  agricultural  encouragement  persist  in 
giving  premiums  to— so  called — fat  cattle ;  mere  mon 
sters — not  of  good,  wholesome,  muscular  fibre,  well- 
mottled — but  mountains  of  adipose  substance,  which 
no  Christian  can  eat,  and  whicli  are  only  disposed  of 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  1C3 

profitably,  by  serving  as  an  advertisement  to  some 
venturesome  landlord,  from  whose  table  the  reeking 
fat  goes  to  the  soap-pot. 

Grossness  does  not  absorb  excellence,  or  even 
imply  it — either  in  the  animal  or  vegetable  world.  I 
have  never  yet  chanced  to  taste  the  monstrosities 
which  the  generous  Californians  sometimes  send  us 
in  the  shape  of  pears ;  but  without  knowing,  I  would 
venture  the  wager  of  a  bushel  of  Bartletts,  that  one 
of  our  own,  little,  jolly,  red-cheeked  Seckels  would 
outmatch  them  thoroughly — in  flavor,  in  piquancy, 
and  in  vinous  richness. 

Shall  the  flaunting  Dahlia  match  us  a  Rose  ?  Yet 
the  dahlia  has  its  place  too  ;  it  gives  scenic  effect ; 
its  tall  stiffness  tells  in  the  distance  ;  but  we  have  a 
thousand  roses  at  every  hand. 

I  sometimes  fear  that  this  disposition  to  set  the 
mere  grossness  of  a  thing  above  its  finer  qualities,  is 
an  American  weakness.  We  do  not  forget,  so  often 
as  we  might  to  advantage — that  we  are  a  great 
people.  That  eagle  which  our  Fourth  of  July 
orators  paint  for  our  delighted  optics,  dipping  his 
wings  in  both  oceans,  is  the  merest  buzzard  of  a 
bird,  except  }e  have  more  virtue  in  him  than  mere 
size. 


164  MY  FARM. 

Seeding  and  Trenching. 

IF  tbere  is  one  fault  above  another  in  all  the  gar« 
dening  books,  it  is  the  lack  of  those  simplest  of 
directions  and  suggestions,  without  which  the  novice 
is  utterly  at  fault.  Thus,  we  are  told  in  what  month 
to  sow  a  particular  seed — that  it  must  have  a  loamy 
soil ;  and  are  favored  with  some  special  learning  in 
regard  to  its  varieties,  and  its  Linna3an  classification. 

"  Pat,"  we  say,  "  this  seed  must  be  planted  in  a 
loamy  soil." 

Pat,  (scratching  his  head  reflectively) :  "  And 
shure,  isn't  it  in  the  garden  thin,  ye'd  be  afther 
planting  the  seed  ?  " 

Pat's  observation  is  a  just  one  ;  of  course  we  buy 
our  seed  to  plant  in  the  garden,  no  matter  what  soil 
it  may  love.  The  more  important  information  in 
regard  to  the  depth  of  sowing  it,  the  mode  of  apply 
ing  any  needed  dressing,  the  requisite  thinning, 
the  insect  depredators,  and  the  mode  of  defeat 
ing  them — is,  for  the  most  part,  withheld.  That  the 
matter  is  not  without  importance,  one  will  under 
stand  who  finds,  year  after  year,  his  more  delicate 
seeds  failing,  and  the  wild  and  attentive  Irishman 
declaring, — 

<c  And,  begorra  thin,  it's  the  ould  seed." 

"  But  did  you  sow  it  properly,  Patrick  ?  " 


CROPS  AND   PROFITS.  165 

"Didn't  I,  faith?  I  byried  'em  an  inch  if  I 
byried  'em  at  all." 

An  inch  of  earth  will  do  for  some  seeds,  but  for 
others,  it  is  an  Irish  burial — without  the  wake. 

The  conditions  of  germination  are  heat,  air,  and 
moisture.  Covering  should  not  be  so  shallow  as  to 
forego  the  last,  nor  so  deep  as  to  sacrifice  the  other 
essential  influences.  Heat  alone  will  not  do  ;  air  and 
moisture  alone  will  not  do.  A  careful  gardener  will 
be  guided  by  the  condition  of  his  soil,  and  the  char 
acter  of  his  seed.  If  this  have  hard  woody  covering 
like  the  beet,  he  will  understand  that  it  demands 
considerable  depth,  to  secure  the  moisture  requisite 
to  swell  the  kernel ;  or  that  it  should  be  aided  by  a 
steep,  before  sowing.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  it  be  a 
light  fleecy  seed,  like  the  parsnip,  he  will  perceive 
the  necessity  of  bringing  the  earth  firmly  in  contact 
with  it. 

As  a  general  rule,  the  depth  of  covering  should 
not  exceed  two  or  three  times  the  shortest  diameter 
of  the  seed  ;  this  plainly  involves  so  light  a  covering 
for  the  lettuces,  parsley,  and  celery,  that  a  judicious 
gardener  will  effect  it  by  simply  sifting  over  them  a 
sprinkling  of  fine  loam,  which  he  will  presently  wet 
down  thoroughly  (unless  the  sun  is  at  high  noon), 
with  his  water-pot — medicined  with  a  slight  pinch  of 
guano. 


166  MY  FARM. 

For  a  good  garden,  as  I  have  said,  a  deep  rich 
soil  is  essential ;  and  to  this  end  trenching  is  desir 
able ;  but  trenching  will  not  always  secure  it,  for 
the  palpable  reason  that  subsoil  is  not  soil.  I  have 
met  with  certain,  awkward  confirmatory  experiences, 
— where  a  delicate  garden  mould  of  some  ten  inches 
in  depth,  which  would  have  made  fair  show  of  the 
lesser  vegetables,  has  been,  by  the  frenzy  of  trench 
ing,  buried  under  fourteen  inches  of  villainous 
gravelly  hard-pan,  brought  up  from  below,  in  which 
all  seeds  sickened,  and  all  plants  turned  pale.  What 
ever  be  the  depth  of  tillage,  it  is  essential  that  the 
surface  show  a  fine  tilth  of  friable,  light,  unctuous 
mould  ;  the  young  plants  need  it  to  gain  strength  for 
a  foray  below.  And  yet  I  have  seen  inordinate  sums 
expended,  for  the  sake  of  burying  a  few  inches  of 
such  choice  moulds,  under  a  foot-thick  coverlid  oi 
the  dreariest  and  rawest  yellow  gravel  that  ever 
held  its  cheerless  face  to  the  sun. 

The  amateur  farmer,  however,  is  not  staggered  by 
any  such  difficulties ;  indeed,  he  courts  them,  and  de 
lights  in  making  conquest.  They  make  good  seed-bod 
for  his  theories — far  better  than  for  his  carrots.  Let 
me  do  no  discredit,  however,  to  '  trenching,'  which 
in  the  right  place,  and  rightly  performed,  by  thor 
ough  admixture,  is  most  effective  and  judicious  ;  nor 
should  any  thoroughly  good  garden  be  established 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  167 

upon  soil  which  will  not  admit  of-  it,  and  justify  it. 
If  otherwise,  my  advice  is,  not  to  trench,  but — sell  to 
an  amateur. 

How  a  Garden  should  Look. 

THE  aesthetic  element  does  not  abound  in  the 
minds  of  country  farmers ;  and  there  is  not 
one  in  a  thousand  who  has  any  conception  of  a  gar 
den,  save  as  a  patch  (always  weedy)  where  the  good- 
wife  can  pluck  a  few  condiments  for  dinner.  If  you 
visit  one,  he  may  possibly  take  you  to  see  a  *  likely 
yearling,'  or  a  corn  crop,  but  rarely  to  his  garden. 
Yet  there  is  no  economic  reason  why  a  farmer's 
.garden  should  not  make  as  good  and  as  orderly  a 
show,  as  his  field  crops. 

A  straight  line  is  not  greatly  more  difficult  to 
make  than  a  crooked  one.  The  absurd  borders,  in 
deed,  where  dirt  is  thrown  into  line,  and  beaten  with 
a  spade,  is  a  mere  caprice,  which  there  is  no  need 
to  imitate  ;  but  the  neatness  which  belongs  to  true 
lines  of  plants,  regular  intervals  between  crops,  per 
fect  cleanliness,  is  another  matter ;  and  is  so  feasible 
and  so  telling  in  effect,  that  no  farmer  has  good  ex 
cuse  for  neglecting  it.  Effective  groupings,  again,  of 
dwarf  trees  and  fruit  shrubbery,  whether  in  rows, 
curves,  or  by  gradations  of  size,  give  points  of  inter 
est,  and  contribute  to  the  attractions  of  a  garden. 


108  MY  FARM. 

It  is  not  a  little  odd  that  the  back-country  gentle 
man,  who  replies  to  all  such  suggestions,  that  he 
cares  nothing  for  appearances — shall  yet  never  ven 
ture  to  a  militia  muster,  or  a  town  meeting,  without 
slipping  into  the  '  press '  for  the  old  black-coat,  and 
the  black  beaver  (giving  it  a  coquettish  wipe  with 
his  elbow) — to  say  nothing  of  the  startling  shirt-col 
lars,  whose  poise  he  studies  before  the  keeping-room 
mirror. 

He  contracts  too  for  a  staring  white  coat  of  paint 
upon  his  house  and  palings,  and  a  mahogany-colored 
door,  out  of  the  same  irresistible  regard  to  "  what 
people  will  say."  But  in  all  this,  he  does  not  do  one 
half  so  much  for  the  education  of  his  children  into  a 
perception  of  order  and  elegance,  as  if  he  bestowed 
the  same  care  upon  the  neatness  of  his  yard  and  gar 
den,  where  their  little  feet  wander  every  day. 

It  would  be  hard  to  estimate  the  educating  effect 
of  the  gardens  of  the  Tuileries  and  Luxembourg  upon 
the  minds  of  those  artisans  of  Paris,  who,  living  in 
garrets,  and  too  poor  for  anything  more  than  a  little 
rustic  tray  of  flowers  upon  their  window  ledge,  are 
yet  possessed  of  a  perception  of  grace,  which  shines 
in  all  their  handiwork.  And  if  you  transport  them 
to  the  country — their  own  Auvergne  or  Normandy — 
they  cannot,  if  they  would,  make  slatternly  gardens : 
they  will  not  indeed  repeat  the  brilliant  tints  of  Paris 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  169 

flowers  ;  they  cannot  rival  the  variety ;  but  they  can 
stamp  lines  of  grace,  and  harmony  of  arrangement 
upon  the  merest  door-yard  of  vegetables  and  pot 
herbs. 

Here  let  me  outline,  in  brief,  what  a  farmer's 
garden  may  be  made,  without  other  than  home-labor. 
A  broad  walk  shall  run  down  the  middle  of  either  a 
square  enclosure,  or  long  parallelogram.  A  box 
edging  upon  either  side  is  of  little  cost,  and  contrib 
utes  eminently  to  neatness ;  it  will  hold  good  for 
eight  years,  without  too  great  encroachment,  and  at 
that  time,  will  sell  to  the  nurserymen  for  more  than 
enough  to  pay  the  cost  of  resetting.  On  either  side 
of  this  walk,  in  a  border  of  six  feet  wide,  the  farmer 
may  plant  his  dwarf-fruit,  with  grapes  at  intervals 
to  climb  upon  a  home-made  cedar  trellis,  that  shall 
overarch  and  embower  the  walk.  If  he  love  an 
evening  pipe  in  his  garden,  he  may  plant  some  simple 
seat  under  one  or  more  of  these  leafy  arbors. 

At  least  one  half  the  garden,  as  I  before  sug 
gested,  he  may  easily  arrange,  to  till, — spring  and 
autumn, — with  the  plough  ;  and  whatever  he  places 
there  in  the  way  of  tree  and  shrub,  must  be  in  lines 
parallel  with  the  walk.  On  the  other  half,  he  will  be 
subjected  to  no  such  'limitations ;  there,  he  will 
establish  his  perennials — his  asparagus,  his  thyme, 
his  sage,  and  parsley ;  his  rhubarb,  his  gooseberries, 
8 


170  MY  FARM. 

strawberries,  and  raspberries ;  and  in  an  angle — hidden 
if  he  choose  by  a  belt  of  shrubbery — he  may  have 
his  hotbed  and  compost  heap.  Fork-culture,  which 
all  these  crops  demand,  will  admit  of  any  arrange 
ment  he  may  prefer,  and  he  may  enliven  the  group- 
ings,  and  win  the  goodwife's  favor,  by  here  and 
there  a  little  circlet  of  such  old-fashioned  flowers  ae 
tulips — yellow  lilies  and  white,  with  roses  of  all  shades 

Upon  the  other  half  he  may  make  distribution  of 
parts,  by  banding  the  various  crops  with  border  lines 
of  China  or  Refugee  beans ;  and  he  may  split  the 
whole  crosswise,  by  a  walk  overarched  with  climb 
ing  Limas,  or  the  London  Horticultural — setting  off 
the  two  ends  with  an  abutment  of  Scarlet-runners, 
and  a  surbase  of  fiery  Nasturtium. 

There  are  also  available  and  pretty  devices  for 
making  the  land  do  double  duty.  The  border  lines 
of  China-beans,  which  will  be  ripened  in  early 
August,  may  have  Swedes  sown  in  their  shadow  in 
the  first  days  of  July,  so  that  when  the  Chinas  have 
fulfilled  their  mission,  there  shall  be  a  new  line  of 
purple  green  in  their  place.  The  early  radishes  and 
salads  may  have  their  little  circlets  of  cucumber  pits, 
no  way  interfering  with  the  first,  and  covering  the 
ground  when  the  first  are  done.  The  early  Bassano 
beets  will  come  away  in  time  to  leave  space  for  tho 
full  flow  of  the  melons  that  have  been  planted  at 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  171 

intervals  among  them.  The  cauliflower  will  find 
grateful  shade  under  the  lines  of  sweet  corn,  and  the 
newly-set  winter  cabbages,  a  temporary  refuge  from 
the  sun,  under  shelter  of  the  ripened  peas.  I  do  not 
make  these  suggestions  at  random,  but  as  the  results 
of  actual  and  successful  experience. 

With  such  simple  and  orderly  arrangement,  in 
volving  no  excessive  labor,  I  think  every  farmer  and 
country-liver  may  take  pleasure  in  his  garden  as  an 
object  of  beauty; — making  of  it  a  little  farm  in 
miniature,  with  its  coppices  of  dwarf-trees,  its  hedge 
rows  of  currants  and  gooseberries,  and  its  meadoAVS 
of  strawberries  and  thyme.  From  the  very  day  on 
which,  in  spring,  he  sees  the  first,  faint,  upheaving, 
tufted  lines  of  green  from  his  Dan-O'Rourkes,  to 
the  day  when  the  dangling  Limas,  and  sprawling, 
bloody  tomatoes  are  smitten  by  the  frost,  it  offers  a 
field  of  constant  progress,  and  of  successive  tri 
umphs.  Line  by  line,  and  company  by  company,  the 
army  of  green  things  take  position  ;  the  little  flowery 
banners  are  flung  to  the  wind ;  and  lo !  presently 
every  soldier  of  them  all — plundering  only  the  earth 
and  the  sunshine — is  loaded  with  booty. 

The  Lesser  Fruits. 

FROM  the  time  when  I  read  of  Mistress  Doctoi 
Primrose's  gooseberry  wine,  which  the  Doctoi 
celebrates   in   his   charming   autobiography,   I   have 


172  MY  FARM. 

entertained  a  kindly  regard  for  that  fruit.  But  my 
efforts  to  grow  it  successfully  have  been  sadly 
baffled.  The  English  climate  alone,  I  think,  will 
bring  it  to  perfection.  I  know  not  how  many  ven 
tures  I  have  made  with  'Roaring-Lion,'  'Brown 
Bob,'  '  Conquerors,'  and  other  stupendous  varie 
ties  ;  but  without  infinite  care,  after  the  first  crop — 
the  mildew  will  catch  and  taint  them.  Our  native 
varieties, — such,  for  instance,  as  the  Houghton-seed- 
ling,  make  a  better  show,  and  with  ordinary  care,  can 
be  fruited  well  for  a  succession  of  seasons.  But  it  is 
not,  after  all,  the  stanch  old  English  berry,  which 
pants  for  the  fat  English  gardens,  for  the  scent  of 
hawthorn,  and  for  the  lowering  fog-banks  of  Lan 
cashire. 

Garden  associations  (with  those  who  entertain 
them)  inevitably  have  English  coloring.  Is  it 
strange — when  so  many  old  gardens  are  blooming 
through  so  many  old  books  we  know  ? 

No  fruit  is  so  thoroughly  English  in  its  associa 
tions  ;  and  I  never  see  a  plump  Roaring-Lion,  but 
I  think  of  a  burly  John  Bull,  with  waistcoat  strained 
over  him  like  the  bursting  skin  of  his  gooseberry, 
and  muttering  defiance  to  all  the  world.  There  is, 
too,  another  point  of  resemblance  ;  the  fruit  is  liable 
to  take  the  mildew  when  removed  from  British  soil, 
just  as  John  gets  the  blues,  and  wraps  himself  in  a 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  173 

veil  of  his  own  foggy  humors,  whenever  he  goes 
abroad.  My  experience  suggests  that  this  capri 
cious  fruit  be  planted  under  the  shadow  of  a  north 
wall,  in  soil  compact  and  deep ;  it  should  be 
thoroughly  enriched,  pruned  severely,  watered  abund 
antly,  and  mulched  (if  possible)  with  kelp,  fresh 
from  the  sea  shore.  These  conditions  and  appli 
ances  may  give  a  clean  cheek,  even  to  the  Conquer- 
ing-Hero. 

But  it  is  not  so  much  for  any  piquancy  of  flavor 
that  I  prize  the  fruit,  as  because  its  English  bloat  is 
pleasantly  suggestive  of  little  tartlets  (smothered  in 
clotted  cream)  eaten  long  ago  under  the  lee  of  Dart 
moor  hills — of  Lancashire  gardens,  where  prize 
berries  reposed  on  little  scaffoldings,  or  swam  in 
porcelain  saucers-aj-and  of  bristling  thickets  in  Cow- 
per's  '  Wilderness'  by  Olney. 

Is  it  lonely  in  my  garden  of  a  summer's  evening  ? 
Have  the  little  pattering  feet  gone  their  ways — to 
bed  ?  Then  I  people  the  gooseberry  alley  with  old 
Doctor  Primrose,  and  his  daughters  Sophia  and 
Olivia ;  Squire  Burchell  comes,  and  sits  upon  the 
bench  with  me  under  the  arbor,  as  I  smoke  my 
pipe.  How  shall  we  measure  our  indebtedness  to 
such  pleasant  books,  that  people  our  solitude  so 
many  years  after  they  are  written !  Oliver  Gold 
smith,  I  thank  you !  Crown-Bob,  I  thank  you. 


]  74  MY  FARM. 

Gooseberries,    like    the    English,    are    rather    indi« 
gestible. 

Of  strawberries,  I  shall  not  speak  as  a  committee- 
man,  but  as  a  simple  lover  of  a  luscious  dish.  I  am 
not  learned  in  kinds  ;  and  have  even  had  the  niaiserie 
in  the  presence  of  cultivators,  to  confound  Crimson 
Cone  with  Boston-Pine  ;  and  have  blushed  to  my 
eyelids,  when  called  upon  to  name  the  British-Queen 
iij  a  little  collection  of  only  four  mammoth  varieties. 
With  strawberries,  as  with  people,  I  believe  in  old 
friends.  The  early  Scarlet,  if  a  little  piquant,  IB 
good  for  the  first  pickings ;  and  the  Hovey,  with  a 
neighbor  bed  of  Pines,  or  McAvoy,  and  Black 
Prince,  if  you  please,  give  good  flavor,  and  a  well- 
rounded  dish.  The  spicy  Alpines  should  bring  up 
the  rear  ;  and  as  they  send  out  biit  few  runners,  are 
admirably  adapted  for  borders.  The  Wilson  is  a 
great  bearer,  and  a  fine  berry ;  but  with  the  tweak 
of  its  acidity  in  my  mouth,  I  can  give  its  flavor  no 
commendation.  Supposing  the  land  to  be  in  good 
vegetable-bearing  condition,  and  deeply  dug,  I  know 
no  dressing  which  will  so  delight  the  strawberry,  as 
a  heavy  coat  of  dark  forest-mould.  They  are  the 
children  of  the  wilderness,  force  them  as  we  will ; 
and  their  little  fibrous  rootlets  never  forget  their 
longing  for  the  dark,  unctuous  odor  of  mouldering 
forest  leaves. 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  375 

Three  great  traveller's  dishes  of  strawberries  are 
in  my  mind. 

The  first  was  at  an  inn  in  the  quaint  Dutch  town 
of  Broek :  I  can  see  now  the  heaped  dish  of  mam 
moth  crimson  berries, — the  mug  of  luscious  cream 
standing  sentry, — the  round  red  cheese  upon  its  plat 
ter, — the  tidy  hostess,  with  arms  akimbo,  looking 
proudly  on  it  all :  the  leaves  flutter  idly  at  the  lat 
ticed  window,  through  which  I  see  wide  stretches 
of  level  meadow, — broad-armed  windmills  flapping 
their  sails  leisurely, — cattle  lying  in  lazy  groups 
under  the  shade  of  scattered  trees ;  and  there  is  no 
sound  to  break  the  June  stillness,  except  the  buzzing 
of  the  bees  that  are  feeding  upon  the  blossoms  of  the 
linden  which  overhangs  the  inn. 

I  thought  I  had  never  eaten  finer  berries  than  the 
Dutch  berries. 

The  second  dish  was  at  the  Douglas-Hotel  in  the 
city  of  Edinboro' ;  a  most  respectable  British  tavern, 
with  a  heavy  solid  sideboard  in  its  parlor ;  heavy 
solid  silver  upon  its  table ;  heavy  and  solid  chairs 
with  cushions  of  shining  mohair  ;  a  heavy  and  solid 
figure  of  a  landlord  ;  and  heavy  and  solid  figures  in 
the  reckoning. 

The  berries  were  magnificent ;  served  upon 
quaint  old  India-china,  with  stems  upon  them,  and  to 
be  eaten  as  one  might  eat  a  fig,  with  successive  bites, 


176  MY  FARM. 

and  successive  dips  in  the  sugar.  The  Scotch  fruit 
was  acid,  I  must  admit,  but  the  size  was  monument* 
ul.  I  wonder  if  the  stout  landlord  is  living  yet,  and 
if  the  little  pony  that  whisked  me  away  to  Salisbury 
crag,  is  still  nibbling  his  vetches  in  the  meadow  by 
Holyrood  ? 

The  third  dish  was  in  Switzerland,  in  the  month 
of  October.  I  had  crossed  that  day  the  Scheideck 
from  Meyringen,  had  threaded  the  valley  of  Grindel- 
wald,  and  had  just  accomplished  the  first  lift  of  the 
Wengern  Alp — tired  and  thirsty — when  a  little  peas 
ant  girl  appeared  with  a  tray  of  blue  saucers,  brim 
ming  with  Alpine  berries — so  sweet,  so  musky,  so 
remembered,  that  I  never  eat  one  now  but  the  great 
valley  of  Grindelwald,  with  its  sapphire  show  of 
glaciers,  its  guardian  peaks,  and  its  low  meadows 
flashing  green,  is  rolled  out  before  me  like  a  map. 

In  those  old  days  when  we  school-boys  were 
admitted  to  the  garden  of  the  head-master  twice  in 
a  season — only  twice — to  eat  our  fill  of  currants  (his 
maid  having  gathered  a  stock  for  jellies  two  days 
before),  I  thought  it  ' most-a-splendid '  fruit;  but  I 
think  far  less  of  it  now.  My  bushes  are  burdened 
with  both  white  and  red  clusters,  but  the  spurs  are 
somewhat  mossy,  and  the  boughs  have  a  straggling, 
dejected  air.  With  a  little  care,  severe  pruning, 
due  enrichment,  and  a  proper  regard  to  varieties 


CROPS  AND   PROFITS.  177 

(Cherry  and  White-Grape  being  thabest),  it  may  be 
brought  to  make  a  very  pretty  show  as  a  dessert 
fruit.  But  as  I  never  knew  it  to  be  eaten  very 
freely  at  dessert,  however  finely  it  might  look,  I 
Lave  not  thought  it  worth  while  to  push  its  propor 
tions  for  a  mere  show  upon  the  exhibition  tables. 
The  amateurs  would  smile  at  those  I  have  ;  but  1 
console  myself  with  reflecting  that  they  smile  at  a 
great  deal  of  goodness  which  is  not  their  own. 
They  are  full  of  conceit — I  say  it  charitably.  I  like 
to  upset  their  proprieties. 

There  was  one  of  them,  an  excellent  fellow  (if  he 
had  not  been  pornologically  starched  and  jaundiced), 
who  paid  me  a  visit  in  my  garden  not  long  ago, 
bringing  his  little  son,  who  had  been  educated 
strictly  in  the  belief  that  all  fine  fruit  was  made — not 
to  be  enjoyed,  but  for  pomological  consideration. 
The  dilettante  papa  was  tip-toeing  along  with  a  look 
of  serene  and  well-bred  contempt  for  my  mildewed 
gooseberries  and  scrawny  currants,  when  I  broke 
off  a  brave  bough  loaded  with  Tartarian  cherries, 
and  handed  it  to  the  lad,  with—"  Here,  Harry,  my 
boy, — we  farmers  grow  these  things  to  eat !  " 

What  a  grateful  look  of  wonderment  in  his  clear 
gray  eyes ! 

The  broken  limb,  the  heresy  of  the  action,  the 
Buddenness  of  it  all,  were  too  much  for  my  fine  friend. 
8* 


178  MY  FARM. 

I  do  not  think  that  for  an  hour  he  recovered  from 
the  shock  to  his  sensibilities. 

Of  raspberries,  commend  me  to  the  Red-Ant 
werp,  and  the  Brinckle's  Orange  ;  but  to  insure  good 
fruitage,  they  should  be  protected  from  high  winds, 
and  should  be  lightly  buried,  or  thoroughly  '  strawed 
over '  in  winter.  The  Perpetual,  I  have  found  a 
perpetual  nuisance. 

The  New-Rochelle  or  Lawton  blackberry  has 
been  despitefully  spoken  of  by  many ;  first,  because 
the  market-fruit  is  generally  bad,  being  plucked 
before  it  is  fully  ripened  ;  and  next,  because  in  rich 
clayey  grounds,  the  briers,  unless  severely  cut  back, 
and  again  back,  grow  into  a  tangled,  unapproachable 
forest,  with  all  the  juices  exhausted  in  wood.  But 
upon  a  soil  moderately  rich,  a  little  gravelly  and 
warm,  protected  from  wind,  served  with  occasional 
top-dressings  and  good  hoeings,  the  Lawton  brier 
bears  magnificent  burdens. 

Even  then,  if  you  would  enjoy  the  richness  of  the 
fruit,  you  must  not  be  hasty  to  pluck  it.  When  the 
children  say  with  a  shout, — "  The  blackberries  are 
ripe  !  "  I  know  they  are  black  only,  and  I  can  wait. 

When  the  children  report — "  The  birds  are  eating 
the  berries,"  I  know  I  can  still  wait.  But  when  they 
say — "  The  bees  are  on  the  berries,"  I  know  they  are 
at  full  ripeness. 


CROPS  AND   PROFITS.  179 

Then,  with  baskets  we  sally  out ;  I  taking  the 
middle  rank,  and  the  children  the  outer  spray  of 
boughs.  Even  now  we  gather  those  only  which 
drop  at  the  touch ;  these,  in  a  brimming  saucer,  with 
golden  Alderney  cream,  and  a  soupgon  of  powdered 
sugar,  are  Olympian  nectar ;  they  melt  before  the 
tongue  can  measure  their  full  roundness,  and  seem  to 
be  mere  bloated  bubbles  of  forest  honey. 

There  is  a  scratch  here  and  there,  which  calls 
from  the  children  a  half-scream  ;  but  a  big  berry  on 
the  lip  cures  the  smart ;  and  for  myself,  if  the  thorns 
draggle  me,  I  rather  fancy  the  rough  caresses,  and  re 
peat  with  the  garden  poet  (humming  it  half  aloud)  : 

Bind  me,  ye  woodbines,  in  your  twines ; 
Curl  me  about,  ye  gadding  vines ; 
And  oh  !  so  close  your  circles  lace, 
That  I  may  never  leave  this  place ; 
But,  lest  your  fetters  prove  too  weak, 
Ere  I  your  silken  bondage  break, 
Do  you,  0  brambles,  chain  me  too, 
And,  courteous  briers,  nail  me  through. 

Grapes. 

IF  the  associations  of  the  gooseberry  are  British, 
those    of    the  vine    are    thoroughly    Judcean. 
There  is  not  a  fruit  that  we  grow,  which  has  so  ven 
erable   and   so   stately   a  history.      Who   does  not 
remember  the  old  Biblical  picture  in  all  the  primers, 


180  MY  FARM. 

of  the  stupendous  cluster  which  the  spies  brought 
away  from  the  brook  Eshcol  ?  And  I  am  afraid  that 
many  a  youngster,  comparing  it  with  the  milder 
growth  which  capped  his  dessert,  has  viewed  it  with 
a  little  of  the  Bishop-Colenso  scepticism. 

Upon  a  certain  day  I  give  to  my  boy, — who  has 
worked  some  mischief, — the  smallest  bunch  of  the 
dish.  He  poises  it  in  his  hand  awhile,  looking 
askance — doubtful  if  he  will  fling  it  down  in  a  pet,  or 
enjoy  even  so  little.  The  latter  feeling  wins  upon 
iiim,  but  is  spiced  with  a  bit  of  satire,  that  relieves 
itself  in  this  way  : 

"  I  think,  papa  (he  is  fresh  from  "  Line  upon 
Line  "),  that  the  spies  wouldn't  put  a  staff  on  their 
shoulders  to  carry  such  a  bunch  as  that !  " 

By  this  admeasurement,  indeed,  no  portion  of  I^ew 
England  can  be  counted  equal  to  the  land  of  Canaan. 
There  are  grapes,  however,  which  yield  gracefully  to 
the  requisitions  of  the  climate,  and  furnish  abundant 
clusters,  if  not  large  ones.  As  yet,  for  out-of-door 
culture — such  as  every  farmer  may  plant  with  faith, 
and  without  trembling  for  the  early  frosts — the  two 
most  desirable  are  the  Concord  and  Diana.  The 
first  the  more  hardy  and  sure ;  the  latter  the  more 
delicate  and  luscious.  Indeed,  few  dessert  fruits  can 
outmatch  a  well-ripened,  sun-freckled,  fully  developed 
and  closely  compacted  bunch  of  the  Diana  grape. 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  181 

The  Catawba  has  its  advocates,  and  it  is  really  a 
dainty  fruit  if  it  have  good  range  of  sun,  and  is  not 
hurried  in  its  ripening ;    but  in  delicacy  of  flavor  it 
must  yield  to  the  Diana.     The  Catawba  crop  is  also 
exceedingly  uncertain  in  this  latitude,  by  reason  of 
the  shortness  of  the  season.     A  gaunt  old  vine  of 
this  variety,  which  stands  behind  the  farmhouse,  has 
given  me  only  two  crops  in  the  six  years  past ;   the 
frosts  have  garnered  the  promise  of  the  others.     I 
have  now,  however,  contrived  to  conduct  its  trailing 
mantle   upon    a    rude   trellis,  so   as   to   completely 
embower  the  roof  of  the  little  outlying  kitchen  ;  and 
the  fumes  and  warmth  of  this  latter,  from  its  open 
skylights,  have  given  to  the  old  vine  such  a  wonder 
ful  vigor  and  precocity,  that  I  have  promise  of  a  full 
burden  of  Avell-ripened  fruit  in  advance  even  of  the 
Isabella.      Can  the  reek  of  a  kitchen  be  put  to  better 
service  ? 

The  Isabella  escapes  ordinary  frosts,  and  is  a  pro 
digious  bearer;  but  it  has  no  rare  piquancy  of  flavor; 
and  the  same  is  to  be  said  of  its  earlier  congener,  the 
Hartford-Prolific. 

Of  all  fruits,  the  grape  is  the  one  which,  to  insure 
perfection,  will  least  tolerate  neglect.  I  do  not  speak 
of  those  half- wild  and  flavorless  crops,  which  hang 
their  clusters  up  and  down  old  elms,  in  neglected 
farm-yards,— but  of  that  compact,  close  array  of 


182  MY  FARM. 

sunny  bunches,  where  every  berry  is  fully  rounded, 
and  every  cluster  symmetrical.  It  must  have  care  in 
the  planting,  that  its  fibrous  roots  may  take  hold 
readily  upon  their  new  quarters ;  care  in  position, 
which  must, — first  of  all,  be  sheltered — next,  have 
ample  moisture — next,  be  utterly  free  from  stagnant 
water,  whether  above  ground  or  below — and  finally, 
have  fair  and  open  exposure  to  the  sun.  It  must 
have  care  in  the  training,  that  every  spur  and  cluster 
may  have  its  share  of  air  and  sunshine ;  care  in  the 
winter  pruning,  to  cut  away  all  needless  wood  ;  care 
in  the  summer  pruning,  to  pinch  down  its  affluence — 
to  drive  the  juices  into  the  fruit,  and  to  restrain  the 
vital  forces  from  wasting  themselves  in  a  riotous  life 
of  leaves  and  tendrils. 

But  the  care  required  is  not  engrossing  or  fatigu 
ing.  Any  country-liver  may  bestow  it  upon  the 
score  of  vines  which  will  abundantly  supply  his 
wants,  without  feeling  the  task.  Nay,  more  ;  this 
coy  guidance  of  the  luxuriant  tendrils, — this  delicate 
fettering  of  its  abounding  green  life, — this  opening 
of  the  clusters  to  the  gladness  of  the  sunshine,  wiU 
make  a  man  feel  tenderly  to  the  vine,  and  breed  a 
fellowship  that  shall  make  all  his  restraints,  and  the 
plucking  away  of  the  waste  shoots,  seem  to  be  mere 
offices  of  friendship. 

There  is  not,  anywhere,  a  country  house  about 


CHOPS  AND  PROFITS.  183 

which  positions  do  not  abound,  where  a  vine  may 
clamber,  and  feed  upon  resources  that  are  worse 
than  lost.  The  southern  or  eastern  front  of  an  old 
out-building;  a  staring, naked  wall  (on  which  grapes 
ripen  admirably)  ;  a  great  unseemly  boulder,  from 
under  which  the  rootlets  will  pluck  out  the  elements 
of  the  fairest  fruit ;  a  back-court,  where  washings 
of  sinks  are  wasting  ;  the  palings  of  a  poultry-yard — 
all  these  are  positions,  where,  with  small  temptation, 
the  mantling -vine  will  "  creep  luxuriant." 

I  have  not  alluded  to  the  Delaware,  because,  thus 
far,  my  plants  have  been  poor  ones,  and  my  experi 
ence  unsuccessful.  At  best,  however,  the  vine  is  of  a 
more  delicate  temper  than  those  named,  and  requires 
larger  care  and  richer  dressing.  Under  these  con 
ditions,  I  believe  the  grape  to  be  all,  which  its  friends 
claim — of  a  delicate  and  highly  aromatic  flavor, — so 
early  as  to  be  secure  against  frosts,  and  giving  a  bet 
ter  promise  than  any  other,  of  a  really  good  domes 
tic  wine. 

I  am  surprised  to  find  in  the  course  of  my  drives 
back  in  the  country,  how  many  of  our  old-time  far 
mers  are  applying  themselves,  in  a  modest  and  some 
what  furtive  way,  to  wine-making.  It  is  true  that 
they  bring  under  contribution  a  great  many  foxy 
s\vamp  varieties,  and  are  not  over-careful  in  regard 
to  ripeness ;  but  faults  of  acidity  they  correct  by  a 


184  MY  FARM. 

heavy  sugaring,  which  gives  an  innocent  and  boun« 
cing  percentage  of  alcohol. 

The  practice  is  not,  I  fear,  entered  upon  with  a 
purely  horticultural  love,  and  I  suspect  they  bring  a 
more  lively  stomachic  fondness  to  it,  than  do  the 
pomologists  to  their  science  of  fruiting.  I  think  the 
development  of  this  home  manufacture  has  been 
quickened  by  Maine-laws,  heavy  import  duties,  and 
by  a  growing  reluctance  on  the  part  of  the  heads  of 
families — to  carry  a  demijohn  in  the  wagon.  I  also 
hear  the  home  product  commended  by  the  old  gen 
tlemen  manufacturers,  as  "  warming  to  the  in'ards  ;  " 
and  in  large  doses,  I  should  think  it  might  be.  Their 
town  customers  for  this  beverage  are  mostly  exceed 
ingly  serious  and  sedate  people,  who  have  a  comical 
way  of  calling  homemade  wines — "  pure  juice." 

And  pray,  why  should  not  sedate  people  enjoy  the 
good  things  of  life, — call  them  by  what  names  they 
will  ?  I  know  an  exceedingly  worthy  man  who  never 
buys  his  cider  except  of  a  deacon ;  and  then  only  by 
the  cask  ;  and  he  buys  it  very  often. 

Plums,  Apricots,  and  Peaches. 

I  AM  sorry  to  give  so  poor  an  account,  as  I  needs 
must,   of  these   stone-fruits.     As   respects   the 
plum,  there  is,  indeed,  an  incompatibility  of  soil  upon 
my  farm,  to  be  contended  against ;  but  this  difficulty 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  185 

is  trifling,  in  comparison  with  the  mischiefs  of  tha 
arch-enemy,  the  curculio.  The  few  trees  which  I 
found  Buffering  under  black-knot  in  its  most  aggra 
vated  form,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  died  under  surgical 
treatment.  Others  have  been  planted  to  supply  their 
places  ; — planted  in  the  poultry  yard — planted  in 
positions  where  the  earth  would  be  hard  trampled, — • 
planted  in  shelter  and  out  of  shelter ;  but  although 
showing  fair  vigor,  and  a  pretty  array  of  blossoms, 
no  device  thus  far  adopted  has  succeeded  in  arresting 
the  spoliations  of  the  curculio.  Paving  the  ground  is 
vain ;  the  forage  of  poultry  is  vain ;  underlying 
water  is  vain ;  and  there  remain  only  three  re 
sources — to  jar  off  the  vermin,  gather  them  and  kill 
them ;  or  second,  to  deluge  the  young  fruit  with  a 
wash  that  shall  nauseate  the  enemy;  or  third,  to 
shield  the  trees  or  fruit  with  a  gauze  covering,  that 
shall  forbid  attack.  They  are  good  devices  against 
any  enemy ;  but  extermination  is  a  slow  process  ;  if 
you  nauseate  the  enemy,  you  are  nauseated  in  turn ; 
and  the  gauze  protection  involves  a  greater  sacrifice 
than  the  sacrifice  of  the  fruit. 

These  reasons,  though  counting  against  the  plum 
as  a  market  product,  do  not,  of  course,  forbid  its 
growth  as  a  luxury, — which,  like  many  other  luxuries, 
must  be  paid  for  in  fourfold  its  value. 

I  would  by  no  means  undervalue  the  plum ;  least 


186  MY  FARM. 

of  all,  that  prince  or  princess  of  plums,  Reine-  Claude 
(Green-Gage),  of  which,  in  the  sunny  towns  along 
the  Loire,  I  have  purchased  a  golden  surfeit  for  a 
few  sous  :  when  I  remember  those,  and  their  luscious 
and  cheap  perfection,  crowning  the  peasants'  gardens, 
I  am  a  little  disheartened  at  thought  of  the  tobacco 
washes,  and  whale-oil  soap  and  syringes,  with  which 
we  must  enter  into  combat  with  the  curculio,  for 
only  a  most  flimsy  supply. 

The  nectarine  is  subject  to  the  same  blight ;  and 
the  apricot  furnishes  only  a  very  dismal  residuum  of 
a  crop.  As  an  espalier,  it  is  not,  I  think,  so  subject 
to  the  ravages  of  the  curculio  as  in  its  unfettered 
condition  ;  but  upon  the  wall  (particularly  if  one  of 
southern  exposure),  it  is  exceedingly  liable  to  injury 
from  the  late  frosts  of  Spring.  I  succeed  in  saving 
a  few  from  all  enemies  every  year ;  but  they  are  so 
wan — so  pinched,  as  hardly  to  serve  for  souvenir  of 
the  golden  Moor-parks  which  crown  an  August  din 
ner  at  Vefours  or  the  Trois-Freres.  It  is  an  old  fruit ; 
the  Persians  had  it ;  the  Egyptians  have  gloried  in 
it  these  centuries  past ;  Columella  names  it  in  his  gar 
den  poem ;  and  Palladius  advises  that  it  be  grafted 
upon  the  almond  :  *  will  the  nurserymen  make  trial  ? 

*  It  occurs  in  Tit.  vii.,  Novem.,  where  he  discourses  of  the 
peach.  "  Inseritur  in  se,  in  amygdalo,  in  pruno  :  sed  ARMENIA,  vel 
PR.ECOQUA  prunis,  duracina  amygdalis  meiius  adhwcscunt,"  etc. 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  187 

It  will  be  remembered  that  in  an  early  chapter  I 
made  mention  of  certain  dilapidated  peach  trees  upon 
the  premises,  which  were  even  then  showing  unfailing 
signs  of  the  '  yellows.'  This  vegetable  dyspepsia  has 
long  since  carried  them  off.  Indeed,  there  are  but 
few  belts  of  land  throughout  New  England  where  a 
man  may  hope  successful  culture  of  this  fruit.  The 
borer  is  an  ugly  enemy  to  begin  with ;  but  with  close 
watchfulness,  the  attacks  of  this  insect  may  be  pre 
vented.  His  cousin,  the  curculio,  does  not  greatly 
affect  the  downy  cheek  of  a  young  peach.  Yet  still, 
in  the  absence  of  more  tempting  surfaces,  he  will 
leave  upon  it  his  Turkish  signet.  Next,  comes  a 
curious,  foul  twisting  of  the  leaves,  due — may  be — to 
some  minute  family  of  aphides  ;  but  this  can  be  miti 
gated  by  judicious  pruning ;  after  these  escapes,  and 
when  your  mouth  is  watering  in  view  of  a  luscious 
harvest,  there  appear  symptoms  of  a  new  disease ; 
the  leaves  cease  to  expand  ;  the  fruit  takes  on  a  pre 
mature  bloom,  and  a  multitude  of  little  shoots  start 
here  and  there  from  the  bark,  being  weakly  attempts 
to  straggle  against  the  consuming  'yellows.'  And 
if  all  these  difficulties  be  fairly  escaped  or  overcome, 
there  remains  the  damaging  fact,  that  in  three  win 
ters  out  of  five,  in  most  New  England  exposures,  the 
extreme  cold  will  utterly  destroy  the  germ  of  the 
fruit  buds. 


188  MY  FARM. 

Notwithstanding  these  drawbacks,  however,  I 
continue  to  put  out  from  year  to  year,  a  few  young 
trees;  not  making  regular  plantations,  but  dotting 
them  about,  in  shrubberies,  and  in  unoccupied  gar 
den  corners,  grouping  them  in  the  lee  of  old  walla 
— in  the  poultry  yard, — upon  the  north  side  of 
buildings, — in  every  variety  of  position  and  of  soil. 
In  this  way  I  contrive — except  the  January  tempera 
ture  shows  ten  below  zero — to  secure  a  fair  table 
supply.  Even  amid  the  shrubbery  of  the  lawn,  where 
I  counted  their  bloom  and  foliage  a  sufficient  return, 
there  have  been  gathered  scores  of  delicious  peaches. 

I  know  that  it  is  disorderly,  and  shocking  to  all 
the  prejudices  of  the  learned,  to  plant  fruit  trees  in 
this  hap-hazard  way.  But  I  love  these  offences 
against  system  (particularly  when  system  is  barren 
of  triumphs).  I  love  to  test  Nature's  own  ruling, 
and  give  her  margin  for  wide  demonstration. 


The  Poultry. 

I  KNOW  not  whether  to  begin  my  discourse  of 
poultry  with  a  terrific  onslaught  upon  all  feath 
ered  creation,  or  to  speak  the  praises  of  the  matronly 
fowls,  which  supply  delicate  spring  chickens  to  the 
table,  and  profusion  of  eggs.  When,  on  some  ill- 
fated  day,  a  pestilent,  pains-taking  hen,  with  her 


CROPS  ANT)  PROFITS.  189 

brood  of  eager  chicklings,  has  found  her  way  into 
my  hot-bed,  and  has  utterly  despoiled  the  most 
cherished  plants ;  or  a^  marauding  drove  of  young 
turkeys  has  cropped  all  the  late  cauliflowers,  I  am 
madly  bent  upon  extermination  of  the  whole  tribe. 

But  reflection  comes — with  a  nice  fresh  egg  to  my 
breakfast,  or  a  delicate  grilled  fowl  to  my  dinner— and 
the  feathered  people  take  a  new  lease  of  life.  They 
give  a  sociable,  habitable  air,  moreover,  to  a  country 
dwelling.  The  contented,  good-humored  cluck  of  the 
hens,  breeds  contentment  in  the  on-looker.  They  are 
rare  philosophers,  taking  the  world  as  they  find  it ; — 
now  a  blade  of  grass,  now  a  lurking  worm ;  here  a 
stray  kernel  of  grain,  and  there  some  tid-bit  of  a 
butter-fly ;  taking  their  siesta  with  a  wing  and  a  leg 
stretched  out  in  the  sun,  and  like  the  rest  of  ns, 
warning  away  from  their  own  feeding  ground,  birds 
less  strong  than  themselves,  with  an  authoritative  dab 
of  their  bills.  Although  amenable  to  laws  of  habit, 
— traversing  regular  beats  for  their  supply  of  wild 
food,  and  collecting  at  regular  hours  for  such  as  the 
mistress  may  have  to  bestow,  they  are  yet  rebellious 
against  undue  or  extraordinary  show  of  authority. 
It  is  quite  impossible  to  exercise  any  safe  control 
over  the  locality  where  the  hens  choose  to  execute 
their  maternal  duties.  They  insist  upon  freedom  of 
the  will  in  the  matter,  as  obstreperously,  and,  I  dare 


190  MY  FARM. 

say,  as  logically,  as  ever  any  old-school  dialectician 
in  his  metaphysical  homilies. 

Nothing  could  be  more  r  charming  than  the  ar 
rangement,  matured  with  the  co-operation  of  an 
ingenious  country  carpenter,  by  which  my  fowls 
were  to  lay  in  one  set  of  boxes,  carefully  darkened, 
and  to  carry  on  their  incubation  in  another  set  of 
boxes,  made  cheery  (against  the  long  confinement), 
with  sky-light ;  there  were  admirable  little  architec 
tural  galleries  through  which  they  were  to  prome 
nade  in  the  intervals  of  these  maternal  duties — adroit 
disposition  of  courts,  and  feeding  troughs,  so  that 
there  should  be  no  ill-advised  collision, — but  it  was 
all  in  vain.  Hens  persisted  in  laying  where  they 
should  not  lay,  and  in  setting,  with  badly-directed 
instinct,  upon  the  dreariest  of  porcelain  eggs.  The 
fowls  of  my  Somersetshire  neighbor,  meantime,  at 
the  stone  cottage,  with  nothing  more  orderly  in  the 
way  of  nests,  than  a  stray  lodgment  in  the  haymow, 
or  a  castaway  basket  looped  under  the  rafters  of  a 
shed,  brought  out  brood  after  brood,  so  full,  and 
fresh,  and  lusty,  as  to  put  my  architectural  devices  to 
shame. 

At  certain  times,  when  the  condition  of  the  gul 
den  or  crops  allow  it,  I  permit  my  fowls  free  forage ; 
and  as  they  stroll  off  over  the  lawn  and  among  the 
shrubberies,  it  sometimes  happens  that  they  come  in 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  19] 

contact  with  the  more  vagabond  birds  of  the  larger 
farm  family.  The  hens  take  the  meeting  philosophi 
cally,  with  a  well-bred  lack  of  surprise,  and  are  not 
deterred  for  a  moment  from  their  forage  employ ; 
perhaps,  (if  with  a  brood)  giving  an  admonitory 
cluck  to  their  chicks,  to  keep  near  them, — even  as  old 
ladies  with  daughters,  in  a  strange  place,  advise 
caution,  without  enjoining  positive  non-intercourse. 

The  ducks,  on  the  contrary,  in  a  very  low-bred 
manner,  give  way  to  a  world  of  surprises,  and  gad 
about  each  other,  dipping  their  heads,  and  quacking, 
and  bickering,  like  old  gossips  long  time  apart,  who 
pour  interminable  scandal  in  each  other's  ears.  The 
cocks  make  an  honest,  fair  fight  of  it,  and  one  goes 
home  draggled,  confining  himself  thereafter  to  his 
own  quarters. 

The  Turkeys  meet  as  fine  ladies  do,  tip-toeing 
round  and  round,  and  eyeing  each  other  with  earnest 
scrutiny,  and  abundant  curvetings  of  the  neck — very 
stately,  dignified,  and  impudent — stooping  to  browse 
perhaps  (ladies  sniff  thus  at  vinaigrettes),  as  if  no 
strange  fowl  were  near, — which  is  merest  affectation. 
They  summon  their  little  families  into  close  order, 
as  if  fearing  contagion,  and  eyeing  each  other, 
wander  apart,  without  a  sign  of  companionship,  or 
a  gobble  of  leave-taking. 

I  must  not  forget  the  groups  of  Guinea-fowl,  who 


192  MY  FARM. 

fraternize  charmingly,  and  threaten  to  become  one 
family.  These  birds,  unlike  all  other  feathered 
animals,  show  no  marked  difference  of  appearance 
between  the  sexes  ;  so  slight  is  this  indeed,  that 
even  the  naturalists  have  blundered  into  errors,  and 
left  us  in  the  dark.*  Even  a  fighting  propensity 
does  not  distinguish  the  cock,  I  observe  ;  for  the 
female  bird  is  an  arrant  termagant,  and  has  under 
taken,  in  my  own  flock,  a  fierce  battle  with  a  torn- 
turkey,  in  which,  though  worsted,  and  eventually 
killed,  she  showed  a  fine  chivalrous  pluck.  They 
are  not,  however,  quarrelsome  among  themselves  ; 
although  flocking  together  in  communities,  the  male 
birds  are  strictly  faithful  to  their  mates,  and  mani 
fest  none  of  the  sultanic  propensities  which  so  de 
plorably  mislead  the  other  domestic  fowls. 

Notwithstanding  their  harsh  cry,  to  which  the 
Greeks  gave  a  special  descriptive  name,  f  I  like  the 
Guinea-fowl  ;  they  are  excellent  layers,  enormous 
devourers  of  insects  —  -3,  little  over-fond,  it  is  true, 
of  young  cauliflowers,  and  grapes,  —  yet  a  stanch, 
lively,  self-possessed  bird  ;  and  notwithstanding  the 
sneers  of  Varro,J  whose  taste  must  have  been  poor 
in  the  matter  of  poultry,  —  excellent  eating. 


*  Buffon  ;  DC  la  Pintard.  f 

\  Lib.  III.,  De  Re  Rust.  Hae  novissimae  in  triclinium  gauearium 
introierunt  £  culiua  propter  fastidium  hominum.  Veneunt  propter 
penuriain  magno. 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  193 

The  young  Guineas,  like  the  young  turkeys,  are 
delicate  however,  and  suffer  from  sudden  changes  of 
temperature.  Give  them  what  care  you  will,  and  all 
the  dietetic  luxuries  of  the  books,  and  on  some  fine 
morning,  you  shall  find  the  half  of  a  brood  moping 
and  staggering,  and  drooping  out  of  life.  The 
young  turkeys  are  even  more  subject  to  infantile 
ailments,  and  their  invalid  caprices  outmatch  all  the 
nostrums  of  the  doctors.  Yet  some  old  spectacled 
lady  in  the  back  country,  with  nothing  better  than  a 
turned-up  barrel  in  the  way  of  shelter,  will  by  an 
easy  and  indescribable  '  knack '  of  treatment,  rear 
such  broods  as  cannot  be  rivalled  by  any  literal 
execution  of  the  rules  of  Boswell  and  Doyle. 

Beyond  the  age  of  six  weeks,  however,  danger 
mostly  ceases,  and  the  poults  have  a  good  chance — 
barring  the  foxes — of  coming  to  the  honors  of  de 
capitation  ;  and  I  know  few  prettier  farm  sights, 
than  a  squadron  of  pure  white  turkeys,  marching 
over  new  mown  grass-land,  with  their  skirmishers 
deployed  on  either  flank,  and  rioting  among  the 
grasshoppers.  It  is  essential  that  both  Guinea-fowl 
and  Turkeys  have  free  and  wide  range ;  they  are 
natural  wanderers  ;  my  hens  submit  to  a  curtailment 
of  their  liberties  with  more  cheerfulness  ;  but  there 
is  after  all,  no  biped  of  which  I  have  knowledge, 
that  does  not  glory  in  freedom.  The  Black  Spanish 
9 


y 


194  MY  FARM. 

fowls,  Dorkings,  and  Polish  top-knots,  (for  these 
make  up  my  variety,  and  are,  I  believe,  the  best), 
form  no  exception ;  and  if  confinement  is  necessary, 
the  enclosing  palings  should  be  of  generous  width. 
A  safe  rule  is — to  make  the  enclosure  so  large 
(whatever  the  number  of  the  flock),  that  the  fowls 
will  not  wholly  subdue  the  grass,  or  forbid  its  health 
ful  vegetation.  If  too  small  for  this,  it  is  impera 
tively  necessary  for  thrift,  that  they  have  a  run  of 
an  hour  each  day  before  sunset. 

The  oldest  English  writer  upon  the  subject  of 
poultry  was  a  certain  Leonard  Mascall,  who  wrote 
about  the  year  1581 — when  Queen  Mary  was  fretting 
in  her  long  confinemert,  and  Sir  Francis  Drake  was 
voyaging  around  the  world.  He  had  been  farmer  to 
King  James,  and  calls  his  little  black-letter  book, 
"  The  husbandrye,  ordring,  and  governmente  of 
poultrie."  Among  his  headings  are  "  How  to  keepe 
egges  long," — "  How  to  have  egges  ah1  winter," — 
"  Of  hennes  that  hatches  abroad,  as  in  bushes," — 
"  Of  turquie  hennes,  profite  and  also  disprofite." 

For  winter  eggs,  he  advises  "  to  take  the  croppes 
of  nettles  when  ready  to  seed,  dry  them,  and  mix 
them  with  bran  and  hemp-seed,  and  give  it  to  the 
hens  in  the  morning,  and  also  to  give  them  the 
seedes  of  cow-make,"  (whatever  that  may  be.)  I 
have  never  ventured  trial  of  his  advices  ;  but  find 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  195 

full  supply  in  giving  hens  warm  quarters — a  closed 
house,  with  double  walls,  and  its  front  entirely  of 
glass ;  here,  with  water  constantly  running,  an 
ample  ash  box  and  gravel  bed,  full  feeding, — not 
forgetting  scraps  of  meat,  and  occasional  vegetable 
diet — the  hens  make  a  summer  of  the  winter,  and 
reward  all  care.  If  the  weather  be  very  warm,  they 
are  allowed  a  little  run  in  the  adjoining  barn-yard 
(their  winter  home  being,  in  fact,  a  rustic  transmuta 
tion  of  an  ancient  cow-shed).  Any  considerable 
chilliness  of  the  atmosphere,  however, — if  they  are 
long  exposed  to  it, — checks  their  laying  propensities, 
and  two  or  three  days  of  housing  are  needed  to 
restore  the  due*  equilibrium. 

The  Roman  writers  give  us  cruel  hints  in  regard 
to  the  fattening  of  fowls,  which  I  have  never  had  the 
heart  to  try.  They  go  beyond  the  rules  of  the 
Strasburg  poulterers  in  harshness ;  and  that  elegant 
heathen  Columella,  has  the  effrontery  to  advise  that 
the  legs  of  young  doves  be  broken,  in  order  to  cram 
them  the  more  quickly.  Such  suggestions  belonged, 
of  right,  to  a  period  when  Roman  ladies — Sabina, 
and  Delia,  aiid  Octavia — looked  down  coolly  on 
gladiators,  gashing  their  lives  out  with  bare  sabres, 
and  then  lolled  home  in  chariots,  to  dine  on  thrushes, 
fatted  in  the  dark.  We, — good  Christians  that  we 
are, — shudder  at  thought  of  such  barbarism;  we  pit 


196  MY  FARM. 

no  bare-backed  gladiators  against  each  other,  with 
drawn  swords,  in  our  very  presence ;  but  we  send 
armies  out,  of  a  hundred  thousand  in  blue  and  gray, 
and  look  at  their  butchery  of  each  other,  very  coolly. 
— through  the  newspapers, — and  dine  on  pate  de  fois 
gras.  Of  course  we  have  improved  somewhat  in  all 
these  ages,  since  Columella  broke  pigeons'  legs ;  of 
course  we  are  civilized  ;  but  the  Devil  is  very  strong 
in  us  still. 

Is  it  Profitable  f 

WHEN  I  have  shown  some  curious  city  visitor 
all  these  belongings  of  the  farm — have 
enlisted  his  admiration  for  my  crested,  golden,  Polish 
fowls, — for  my  garden,  for  the  fruits  ; — for  the  wide 
stretch  of  fields,  and  the  herd  of  cows  loitering  under 
the  shadow  of  the  scattered  apple  trees,  he  turns 
upon  me,  in  his  city  way,  with  the  abrupt  question 
ing,  "Isn't  it  confoundedly  expensive,  though,  get 
ting  land  smoothed  out  hi  this  style — what  with  your 
manures,  and  levelling,  and  planting  trees  ?  " 

And  I  answer — "  N — n — no  ;  no ;  (somewhat 
bolder.)  There's  a  certain  amount  of  labor  involved, 
to  be  sure,  and  labor  has  to  be  paid  for,  you  know. 
But  there  are  the  vegetables,  the  chickens,  the  eg^s, 
the  milk,  and  the  fruit,  which  must  come  out  of  the 
shops,  unless  a  man  have  a  home  supply." 


CROPS  AND   PROFITS.  197 

"  To  be  sure,  you're  quite  right ;  "  and  I  think  he 
admitted  the  observation,  as  many  city  people  incline 
to,  as  a  new  idea.  "  But,"  he  added,  with  an  awkward 
inquisitiveness,  "  Do  you  ever  get  any  money  back  ?  " 
My  friend  was  not  a  reader  of  the  Agricultural 
Journals,  or  he  could  not  have  failed  to  notice  the 
pertinacity  with  which  the  profitableness  of  farming 
is  urged  and  re-urged.  Indeed,  with  all  considera 
tion  for  the  calling,  I  think  it  is  somewhat  too  per 
sistently  pressed.  It  suggests — rather  too  strongly 
the  urgence  of  the  recruiting  sergeant,  in  setting 
forth  the  profitableness  of  soldiering.  I  do  not 
observe  that  army  contractors  magnify  the  gains  of 
their  craft  very  noisily.  The  hens  that  lay  golden 
eggs  never  cackle  ',  at  least,  I  never  heard  them. 

The  question  of  my  friend  remains  however, 

"  Do  you  ever  get  any  money  back, — eh  ?  " 
What  an  odious  particularity  many  of  these  city 
people  have  !  What  a  crucial  test  they  bring  to  the 
delightful  suroundings  of  a  country  home !  Have 
they  no  admiration  for  such  stretch  of  fields,  such 
herds,  and  the  shrubberies,  on  whose  skirts  the  flowers 
are  gleaming?  Somebody  has  suggested  that  the 
forbidden  fruit  with  which  the  Devil  tempted  Eve, 
and  which  Eve  plucked  to  the  sorrow  of  her  race, 
was — money.  A  tree  whose  fruit  carries  knowled^ 

O 

of  good  and  evil,  is  surely  not  an  inapt  figure  of 


198  MY  FARM. 

the  capabilities  cf  money — by  which  all  men  and 
women  stand  tempted  to-day.  The  Paradise  tree  is 
not  popularly  supposed  to  grow  largely  on  the  farms 
of  amateurs. 

But    the   question    returns— "  Do   you    get   any 
money  back  ?  " 

I  think  it  must  be  fairly  admitted  that  with  most 
amateur  farmers,  the  business  (if  we  reckon  it 
business)  is  only  an  elegant  luxury ;  absorbing  in  a 
quite  illimitable  manner,  all  loose  funds  at  the  dis 
posal  of  the  adventurer,  and  returning — smooth  fields, 
sleek  cattle,  delicious  fruits,  and  possibly,  a  few 
annual  premiums.  We  never  get  at  their  'memo 
randa.'  Mr.  Mechi,  indeed,  of  the  Tip-tree  Hall, 
gave  us  an  exhibit  of  his  expenses  and  his  sales ; 
but  he  found  it  necessary  to  support  the  statement 
with  sundry  affidavits ;  people  showed  wanton  dis 
trust  ;  and  I  think  there  is  an  earnest  belief  among 
shrewd  observers,  that  the  razor  straps,  soaps,  and 
dressing-cases  of  Leaden-Hall  street  (where  his 
original  business  lies),  are,  in  a  large  degree,  credi 
tors  of  the  Tip-tree  Hall  farming. 

But  Mr.  Mechi  is  something  more  than  an  ama 
teur  ;  he  is  an  innovator ;  and  has  sustained  his  in 
novations  with  a  rare  business  capacity,  and  tliat 
inexorable  system,  which  can  make  even  weak  ideas 
exhibit  a  compacted  strength.  Amateurs  then,  can- 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  199 

not  take  shelter  under  cover  of  Mr.  Meclii's  figures. 
Farming  remains  an  elegant  amusement  only,  for 
those  who  can  afford  to  buy  all  that  they  need,  and 
to  sell  nothing  that  they  raise  ;  and  a  profitable 
employment,  only  (in  the  majority  of  instances),  for 
those  who  can  afford  to  sell  all  that  they  raise,  and 
buy  nothing  that  they  need. 

"  Does  any  money  come  back,  eh  ?  " 

The  question  of  my  persistent  friend  must  be 
met.  And  I  do  not  know  how  it  can  be  more  fairly 
met,  than  by  giving  an  abstract  of  accounts  for  the 
first  year,  third  year,  and  fifth  year  of  occupancy. 

Debit  and  Credit. 

LET  us  count  first  all  extraordinary  repairs  and 
necessary  implements  on  taking  possession,  as 
part  of  the  farm  investment ;  next,  let  us  set  off  the 
interest  upon  investment,  against  house  rent,  and  all 
home  consumption.  Thus, — if  a  farm  cost  $12,000, 
(and  I  use  illustrative  figures  only),  and  if  the  needed 
repairs  and  implements  at  the  start  involve  an  outlay 
of  $3,000  more — we  have  a  total  of  $15,000,  upon 
which  the  interest  ($900),  may  be  fairly  set  off  against 
rent,  and  the  poultry,  dairy  products,  fuel,  vegetables 
etc.,  consumed  upon  the  place.  A  shrewd  working 
farmer  would  say  that  this  implied  altogether  too 


200  MY  FARM. 

large  a  home  consumption,  for  reasonable  profit ;  but 
to  those  who  come  from  the  city  to  the  country, 
with  the  determination  to  enjoy  its  bounties  to  the 
full,  it  will  appear  very  moderate.  In  any  event,  it 
will  simplify  the  comparison  I  wish  to  make  between 
the  actual  working  expenses  of  a  farm,  and  the 

results  of  positive  sales.     But  let  us  come  to  figures: 

f 

FIRST  YEAR—EDGEWOOD  FARM. 

DR. 

To  Valuation  of  live  stock,.    .        .  .$1,20000 

"  Interest  on  do.,       ....  V2  00 
"  Purchase  of  new  stock,      ...        300  00 

»  Labor, ,  .  1,200  00 

"  Hay  and  grain  bought,       .         .  .        150  00 

"  Seeds,  trees,  etc.,    ....  150  00 

"  Manures,    .         .        .                 .  .       250  00 

"  Wear  and  tear  of  implements,         .  100  00 

"  Taxes,  insurance,  and  incidentals,  .       100  00 

$3,522  00 
CR. 
By  Valuation  stock,  close  of  yr.,    .         .  $1,400  00 

"   Sales  do. 25000 

"     do.    milk, 60000 

"     do.    butter,  ....  5000 

"     do.   vegetables,       ....         60  00 

"     do.   fruits, 1000 

"     do.    eggs  and  poultry,      .        .        .         25  00 
«     do.    sundries,       .        .        .        .  7500 

$2,470  00 
"  Balance  (loss),  .        .        ,        ,        .     1,052  00 

$3,522  00 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  201 

First  years  of  any  adventure  do  not  offer  a  very 
appetizing  show — least  of  all  the  adventure  of  restor 
ing  a  neglected  farm. 

If  this  record  does  not  prove  entertaining  to  the 
reader,  I  can  frankly  say  that  he  has  my  heartiest 
sympathies.  The  great  enormity  lies  in  the  labor 
account — always  the  enormity  in  any  reckoning  of 
American  farming,  as  compared  with  British  or  Con 
tinental.  It  must  be  remembered,  however,  that  a 
large  proportion  of  the  sum  named,  went  to  the 
execution  of  permanent  improvements,  and  that  two- 
thirds  of  it  would  have  been  amply  sufficient  for  the 
exigencies  of  the  farm-work  proper 

Let  us  slip  on  now  to  the 

THIRD  TEAR. 

DE. 

To  Valuation  of  stock,   .        .        .        .$1,50000 

"  Interest  on  do.,     ....  90  00 

"  Purchase  of  new  stock      ...  200  00 

"  Labor  bills,    .....  1,100  00 

"  Manures, 150  00 

"  Hay  and  grain  bought,           ,  120  00 

"  Seeds,  trees,  etc.,        .         .         .         .  50  00 

"  Wear  and  tear  of  implements,         .  10000 

"  Taxes,  insurance,  and  incidentals,  .     .  100  00 

$3,410  00 
"  Balance  (gain),      ....  615  00 

$4,025  00 
9* 


202  MY  FARM. 

OR. 

By  Valuation  stock,  close  of  yr.,    .        .  $1,600  00 

"   Sales  do.,      .        .        .        .  200  00 

"     do.   milk, 1,650  00 

"     do.   vegetables,  ....  250  00 

"     do.   fruits, 125  00 

"     do.   poultry,        ....  100  00 

"     do.   sundries, 100  00 


$4,025  00 

This  lias  a  more  cheerful  look,  but  is  not  gor 
geous ;  yet  the  fields  are  wearing  a  trim  look,  and 
there  is  a  large  percentage  of  increased  productive 
capacity,  which  if  not  put  down  in  figures,  has  yet  a 
very  seductive  air  for  the  eye  of  an  imaginative  pro* 
prietor.  Two  years  later  the  account  stands  thus  : — 

FIFTH  TEAR. 

DR. 

To  Valuation  of  stock,    .        .        .        .$1,70000 

"  Interest  on  do.,      ....  102  00 

"  Purchase  of  new  stock,      ...  180  00 

"  Labor  bills, 1,000  00 

"  Manures, 100  00 

"  Grain  purchased,    .         .        .        .  130  00 

u  Seeds,  trees,  &c.,       .        .        .        .  60  00 

"  "Wear  and  tear  of  implements,        .  100  00 

u  Insurance,  taxes,  and  incidentals,       .  120  00 


$3,492  00 
"  Balance  (gain),      .        .        t  088  00 

$4,480  00 


CROP8  AND  PROFITS.  203 

OR. 

By  Valuation  stock,  close  of  yr.,    .  .  $1,700  00 

"   Sales  do.       .     '   .         .         .        .  230  00 

"     do.   milk,        .         .        .        .  .     1,900  00 

"     do.   vegetables,  ....  250  00 

"     do.   fruit,        .         '.        .        .  .        150  00 

"     do.   poultry,        .         .        .         .  130  00 

"     do.   sundries,          ....  120  00 

$4,480  00 

These  figures  though  written  roundly,  are  (frac- 
tions  apart)  essentially  true ;  I  would  match  them  for 
honesty  (though  not  for  largeness),  against  any 
official  report  I  have  latterly  seen — not  excepting  the 
"  Quicksilver  mining,"  or  the  Quartermaster  General's. 

If  we  analyze  these  accounts,  we  shall  find  the 

Average  interest  upon  investment,  (say)  $1,000  00 
Average  working  expenses,          .        .     1,800  00 

Total, $2,800  00 

On  the  other  side  the 

Average  cash  sales  are,  .        .  $2,600  00 

House  rent  and  home  consumption,  900  00 

Total, $3,500  00 

Leaving  profit  of  8700,  which  is  equivalent  to  ten 
per  cent,  upon  the  supposed  capital;— all  this,  under 
the  cheerful  hypothesis  that  personal  supervision  is  a 
mere  amusement,  and  is  not  justly  chargeable  to  the 


204  MY  FARM. 

farm.  If  otherwise,  and  the  overlook  be  rated  as 
Government  or  corporate  officials  rate  such  service, 
the  credit  balance  becomes  ignominiously  small. 

It  is  to  be  considered,  however,  that  the  growing 
productive  capacity  of  the  soil,  under  generous  man 
agement,  may  be  estimated  at  no  small  percentage ; 
and  the  inevitable  increase  in  value  of  all  lands  in 
the  close  neighborhood  of  growing  towns,  may  be 
counted  in  the  light  of  another  percentage. 

All  this  is  not  certainly  very  Ophir-like,  nor  yet 
very  dreary. 

Again,  it  is  to  be  remarked  that  the  entries  for 
labor,  and  incidental  expenses  in  the  accounts  given, 
are  for  those  expenses  only,  which  contributed  directly 
either  to  the  farm  culture,  or  conditions  of  culture — 
not  all  essential,  perhaps,  but  all  contributory.  If, 
however,  the  Bucolic  citizen  have  a  taste  to  gratify — 
in  architectural  dovecots,  in  hewn  walls,  in  removal 
of  ledges,  in  graperies,  in  the  planting  of  long 
ranges  of  Osage-Orange  (which  the  winter  mice 
consume),  the  poor  little  credit  balance  of  the  farm 
account,  is  quite  lost  in  the  blaze  of  agricultural 
splendor. 

I  do  not  at  all  deny  the  chann  of  such  luxuries. 
I  only  say — that  they  are  luxuries ;  and  in  the 
present  state  of  the  butter  and  egg  markets,  'must 
be  paid  for  as  such.  And  the  life  that  is  lived  amid 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  205 

such  luxuries  is  not  so  much  a  farm  life,  as  it  is  a  life 
—a  long  way  from  town. 

Rus  hoc  vocari  debet,  an  domus  longe  ? 

It  is  the  irony  of  Martial  in  the  concluding  line 
of  his  Faustine  epigram ;  and  with  it,  I  whip  my 
chapter  of  figures  to  a  close. 

Money-Making  Farmers. 

WHERE  are  the  men  then,  who  have  grubbed 
out  of  the  reluctant  eastern  soil,  their 
stocking-legs  of  specie,  and  their  funds  at  the  bank  ? 
They  are  not  wholly  myths  ;  there  are  such.  Find 
me  a  man,  who,  by  aptitude  at  bargaining  (let  us  not 
call  it  jockeyism),  can  reduce  the  labor  estimates  in 
the  foregoing  accounts  by  a  third ;  and  who,  by  a 
kindred  quality,  can  add  to  the  amount  of  sales  by  a 
third;  who  can,  by  dint  of  early  rising  and  per 
petual  presence,  stretch  the  ten-hour  system  into 
twelve  or  fourteen ;  who,  by  a  conquest  of  all  "finer 
appetites,  can  reduce  the  home  consumption  to  a 
third  of  the  figure  named  in  my  estimates,  arid  you 
have  a  type  of  one  class.  A  union  of  tremendous 
energy  and  shrewdness ;  keenly  alive  to  the  phases 
of  the  market ;  an  ally  of  all  the  hucksters  ;  sharp  to 
pounce  upon  some  poor  devil  of  an  emigrant,  before 
he  has  learned  the  current  rate  of  wages ;  gifted  with 


206  MY  FARM. 


a  quick  scent  for  all  offal,  which  may  be  had  for  the 
cartage,  and  which  goes  to  pig  food,  or  the  fermen- 
tation  of  compost. 

I  think  I  have  hinted  at  a  character  which  those 
will  recognize,  who  know  the  neighborhood  of  large 
New  England  towns  :  a  prompt  talker — not  bashful, 
— full  of  life — selectman,  perhaps ;  great  in  corner 
groceries,  'forehanded,'  indefatigable,  trenchant, 
with  an  eye  always  to  windward. 

If  I  were  to  sketch  another  type  of  a  New  Eng 
land  farmer,  who  is,  in  a  small  way,  successful, — it 
would  be  a  sharp-nosed  man,  thin,  wiry,  with  a  blue- 
ness  about  the  complexion,  that  has  come  from 
unlimited  bufferings  of  northwesters ;  one  who  has 
been  '  moderator '  at  town  meetings,  in  his  day,  and 
upon  school  committees  over  and  over ;  one  who  has 
sharpened  his  tongue  by  occasional  talk  at  '  society ' 
meeting — to  say  nothing  of  domestic  practice. 

I  think  of  him  as  living  in  a  two-story,  white 
house,  with  green  blinds,  (abutting  closely  upon  the 
road,)  and  whose  front  rooms  he  knows  only  by  half- 
yearly  summations  to  a  minister's  tea-drinking,  or 
the  severer  ordeal  of  the  sewing  circle.  His  hands 
are  stiff  and  bony;  all  the  callosities  of  axe  and 
scythe  and  hoe,  have  blended  into  one  horny  texture, 
the  whole  of  the  epidermis  ;  yet  his  eye  has  a  keen 
shrewd  flash  in  it,  from  the  depths  of  sixty  years ; 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  20* 

and  under  the  hair  of  his  temple,  you  may  see  a 
remaining  bit  of  bleached  skin,  which  shows  that  he 
was — fifty  odd  years  ago — a  fair  complexioned  boy. 

He  has  grown  gray  upon  his  straggling  farm  of 
one  or  two  hundred  acres  ;  yet  it  is  doubtful  if  the 
farm  will  produce  more  now,  than  on  the  day  he 
entered  into  possession.  Some  walls  have  been 
renewed,  and  the  old  ones  are  tottering.  Broken 
bar- ways  have  been  replaced  by  new  ones  ;  the  wood 
pile  has  its  stock  year  after  year ;  and  every  tenth 
year,  when  oil  is  down,  the  house  has  its  coat  of 
paint — himself  being  mixer  and  painter — save  under 
the  eaves,  for  which  ladder  work,  he  employs  a 
country  journeyman,  who  takes  half  pay  in  pork  or 
grain.  When  '  help '  is  low,  he  clears  some  out 
standing  rye  field,  and  commences  a  new  bit  of  wall 
— a  disunited  link,  which  possibly  his  heirs  may 
complete.  Every  year,  six,  ten,  or  twelve  hogs  grow 
into  plethoric  proportions ;  every  year  they  are 
butchered,  under  a  great  excitement  of  hot  water, 
lard-tryings,  unctuous  fatty  smells — sausage  stuffing, 
and  sales  to  the  '  packer '  of  the  town.  Every  year 
he  tells  their  weight  to  his  neighbors,  between  ser 
vices,  at  meeting — with  his  thumb  and  forefinger  in 
the  pocket  of  his  black  waistcoat,  and  the  same  sly 
twinkle  in  his  eye. 

Every  spring  he  has  his  '  veals ' — four,  six,  ten, 


208  MY  FARM. 

—as  the  case  may  be  ;  and  every  spring  he  higgles 
in  much  the  same  way  with  the  town  butcher,  in 
regard  to  age,  to  price,  and  to  fatness.  Every  sum 
mer  I  see  him  in  black  hat  and  black  dress  coat,  on 
his  wagon  box,  with  butter  firkins  behind  (the  covers 
closed  on  linen  towels  by  the  mistress  at  home), 
driving  to  the  market.  And  if  I  trot  behind  him  on 
his  return,  I  see  that  his  exchange  has  procured  him 
a  two-gallon  jug  of  molasses,  a  savory  bundle  of 
dried  codfish,  a  moisty  paper  parcel  of  brown  sugar, 
a  tight  little  bag  of  timothy  seed,  and  a  new  hoe,  or 
dung  fork.  But  he  never  allows  his  spendings  to 
take  up  the  gross  sum  of  his  receipts  ;  always  there 
goes  home  a  modicum,  which  grows  by  slow  and 
gradual  accretions  into  notes  (secured  by  mortgage), 
of  some  unthrifty  neighbor,  or  an  entry  upon  the 
columns  of  his  book  at  the  Savings. 

There  is  no  amateur  of  them  all,  who  receives  as 
much  into  a  third,  for  what  he  may  have  to  sell ;  nor 
any  one  who  spends  as  little,  by  two-thirds,  for  what 
he  may  have  to  buy.  It  is  incredible  what  such  a 
man  will  save  in  the  way  of  barter ;  and  equally 
incredible  how  rarely  he  finds  occasion  to  pay  out 
money  at  all.  Yet  he  is  observant  of  proprieties ; 
his  pew-rent  at  the  meeting  house,  and  tax  bills  are 
punctually  honored.  If  I  bargain  with  him,  he  loves 
deliberation ;  he  has  an  opinion,  but  it  only  appears 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  £09 

after  long  travail,  and  comparison  of  views — in  the 
course  of  which,  he  has  whittled  a  stout  billet  of 
wood  to  a  very  fine  point.  If  I  address  him  in  the 
field,  he  stops — leans  on  his  hoe — and  is  willing  to 
lavish  upon  me  the  only  valuable  commodity  for 
which  he  makes  no  charge,  to  wit — his  time. 

Such  a  farmer  repairs  his  barn  promptly,  when 
the  sills  are  giving  way ;  he  does  not  hesitate  at  the 
purchase  of  a  '  likely  pair  of  cattle '  at  a  bargain ; 
he  will  buy  occasional  bags  of  guano,  upon  proof  in 
his  turnip  patch,  or  on  his  winter  rye  ;  but  if  a  sub 
soil  plow  is  recommended,  he  gives  a  sly  twinkle  to 
that  gray  eye  of  his,  and  a  complimentary  allusion  to 
the  old  '  Eagle  No.  4,'  which  settles  the  business. 

Such  men  are  in  their  way — money-makers ;  but 
rather  by  dint  of  not  spending,  than  by  large  profits. 
These  back-country  gentlemen  have  their  families — 
educated  (thanks  to  our  school  system)  ; — boys,  lank 
at  the  first,  in  short-armed  coats,  and  with  a  pinch 
of  the  vowel  sounds  in  their  speech  ;  but  they  do  not 
linger  around  such  a  homestead ;  they  come  to  the 
keeping  of  hotels,  or  of  woodyards  on  the  Missis 
sippi  ;  many  are  written  down  in  the  dead-books  of 
the  war. 

Our  money-saving  farmer  has  his  daughter  too, 
with  her  Chrysanthemums  and  striped-grass  at  tho 
door,  and  her  pink  monster  of  a  Hydrangea.  She  has 


210  MY  FARM. 

her  Lady's  book,  and  her  Ledger,  and  on  such  liter- 
ary  food  grows  apace;  but  such  reading  does  not 
instil  a  healthy  admiration  for  the  dairy  or  butter- 
making ;  rosy  cheeks  and  incarmined  arms  do  not 
belong  to  the  heroines  of  her  dreams.  I  do  not  think 

she  ever  heard  of  Kit  Marlowe's  song  : 

"  Come  live  with  me,  and  be  my  love." 
The  faint  echoes  of  the  town  in  fashion  plates  and 
sensation  stories,  make  a  weird,  intoxicating  music,  in 
listening  to  which,  in  weary  bewilderment,  she  has 
no  ear  for  a  brisk  bird-song.  No  wild  flowers  from 
the  wood,  are  domesticated  at  her  door.  I  catch  no 
sight  of  sun  bonnets,  or  of  garden  trowels.  Out  of 
door  life  is  shunned ;  and  hence,  come  sallowness, 
unhealthiness,  narrowness — not  even  the  well-devel 
oped  physique  of  the  town  girl,  who  has  the  pave 
ments  for  her  marches  and  countermarches.  I  hear, 
indeed,  in  summer  weather,  the  tinkle  of  a  piano ;  but 
it  frights  away  the  wrens ;  and  of  the  two,  I  must 
say  that  I  prefer  the  wrens. 

All  this  unfits  for  thorough  sympathy  with  the 
every  day  life  of  the  father;  and  when  common 
sympathies  do  not  unite  a  family,  its  career  breaks  at 
the  death  of  the  patron.  If  there  be  nothing  in  the 
country  life  which  can  call  out  and  sustain  the  pride 
of  all  members  of  the  country  family,  it  can  never 
offer  tempting  career  to  the  young.  ' 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  211 

From  these  causes  it  is,  that  Dorothy  will  very 
likely  be  a  weazen-faced  old  maid,  hopeful  of  any- 
thing  but  the  tender  longing  of  Overbury's  "  Faire 
Milke-Maide."  Too  instructed  to  admire  the  sharp 
roughnesses  of  her  wiry  papa;  too  liberalized,  it 
may  be,  by  her  reading,  to  bear  mildly  his  peevish 
closeness  ;  not  kindling  into  a  love  of  the  beauties  of 
nature,  because  none  will  sympathize  with  that  love 
— dreaming  over  books  that  carry  her  to  a  land  of 
mirage,  and  make  her  still  more  unfit  for  the  every 
day  duties  of  life ; — not  recognizing  the  heroism  of 
successful  struggle  with  mediocrity  and  homely  du 
ties; — yearning  for  what  is  not  to  be  hers,  she  is 
the  ready  victim  of  illnesses  against  which  she  has 
neither  the  vigor  nor  the  wish  to  struggle. 

"  So,  Dorothy  is  gone  !  Squire,"  says  the  country 
parson  ;  "  Let  us  pray  to  God  for  his  blessing." 

The  darkened  parlors  are  opened  now;  the  far 
mer's  daughter  is  a  bride,  and  death  is  the  groom. 

The  gilt-backed  books  are  dusted ;  the  cobwebs 
swept  away ;  the  black  dress-suit  rebrushed ;  the 
twinkle  of  the  eye  is  temporarily  banished ;  the 
neighbors  are  gathered;  the  warning  spoken;  the 
procession  moves  ;  and  the  grave  closes  it  all. 

The  Artemisias  bloom  on,  and  the  purple  tufts  of 
Hydrangea  ; — poor  Dorothy's  flowers  ! 

It  is  a  little  picture  from  the  life  of  certain  money 


212  MY  FARM. 

making  fanners,  who  pinch — to  save.  There  is  a 
jingling  resonance  of  money  at  the  end,  but  it  is 
not  tempting  ;  it  has  come  upon  a  barren  life,  with 
out  glow  or  reach — a  life  whose  parlors  have  been 
always  closed. 

Does  Farming  Pay? 

AND  now  let  us  prbciser  the  whole  matter,  and 
get  rid,  if  we  can,  of  that  interminable  ques 
tion — does  Farming  pay  ? 

Will  shop-keeping  pay  ?  Will  tailoring  or  Doc 
toring  pay?  Will  life  pay?  How  do  these  ques 
tions  sound  ?  And  yet  they  are  as  reasonable  as  the 
one  we  come  to  consider.  Tell  me  of  the  capacity 
of  the  Doctor — of  the  tailor  ;  tell  me  of  his  location, 
and  of  his  aptitude  for  the  business,  and  I  can 
answer.  Tell  me  of  what  material  you  propose  to 
make  a  farmer,  tell  me  of  his  habits,  and  of  the  con 
dition  of  his  soil  and  markets,  and  I  can  tell  you  if 
he  will  find  a  profit  or  none ;  and  this,  without  re 
gard  to  Liebig,  Short-horns,  or  the  mineral  theory. 

Successful  farming,  it  must  be  understood,  is  not 
that  which  secures  a  large  monied  result  this  \ear, 
and  the  next  year,  and  the  year  after  ;  but  it  is  that 
which  snsures  to  the  land  a  constantly  accumulating 
fertility,  in  connection  with"  remunerative  results. 
The  theory  of  the  agricultural  doctors,  that  every 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  213 

year,  as  much  of  the  nutritive  elements  of  land  should 
be  restored,  as  the  annual  cropping  removes,  may  be 
good  ruling  for  virgin  soil,  or  for  the  Lothians,  or 
Belgian  gardens ;  but  for  neglected  or  poor  soil,  a 
larger  restoration  is  needed ; — if  not  by  manures,  then 
by  tillage  or  drainage.  Exact  equipoise  is  difficult, 
and  implies  no  advance.  It  is  neither  easy  nor 
desirable  to  be  forever  balancing  oneself  upon  a 
tight  rope.  If  progressive  farming  will  not  pay,  it 
is  quite  certain  that  no  other  farming  will. 

I  know  there  are  many  quiet  old  gentlemen 
among  the  hills,  who  have  a  sleepy  way  of  putting 
in  their  corn  patch  year  after  year,  and  a  sleepy  way 
of  clearing  out  their  meagre  pittance  of  drenched 
manure,  and  a  sleepy  way  of  never  spending,  who 
drop  off  some  day,  leaving  money  in  their  purse  ;  but 
such  success  does  not  tempt  the  young ;  it  gives  no 
promise  of  a  career.  "  Pork  and  cabbage  for  dinner, 
and  the  land  left  lean," — might  be  written  on  their 
gravestones. 

The  faculty  of  not-spending,  is  cultivated  by 
many  farmers,  a  great  deal  more  faithfully  than 
their  lands  ;  but  the  faculty  of  right-spending  (fae- 
ultas  impendendi)*  is  at  the  bottom  of  all  signal 

*  The  language  of  Columella,  which  is  as  keen  and  as  much  to 
the  point  now  as  in  the  time  of  Tiberius :  —  "  Qui  studium  agricola- 
tioni  dederit,  sciat  Jtcec  sibi  advocanda  :  prudentiam  ret,  facultatem 
impendendi,  voluntatcin  agendi" 


214  MY  FARM. 

success  in  agriculture,  as  in  other  business  pursuks. 
This  kind  of  enterprise  is  what  farmers  specially 
lack ;  and  the  lack  is  due  to  the  secure  tenure  by 
which  they  hold  their  property.  The  shopkeeper 
who  turns  his  capital  three  or  four  times  in  a  year, 
and  who  knows  that  an  old  stock  of  goods  will 
involve  heavy  losses,  is  stimulated  to  constant 
activity  and  watchfulness.  The  farmer,  on  the  other 
hand,  inheriting  his  little  patch  of  land,  and  feeling 
reasonably  sure  of  his  corn  and  bacon,  and  none  of 
that  incentive  which  attends  risk,  yields  himself  to  a 
stolid  indifference,  that  overlays  all  his  faculties. 
Yet  some  of  the  Agricultural  papers  tell  us  with 
pride,  that  bankruptcies  among  farmers  are  rare. 
Pray  why  should  they  not  be  rare  ?  The  man  who 
never  mounts  a  ladder,  will  most  surely  never  have  a 
fall  from  one.  Dash,  enterprise,  spirit,  wakefulness, 
have  their  hazards,  and  always  will ;  but  if  a  man 
sleep,  the  worst  that  can  befal  him  is  only  a  bad 
dream.  This  lethargy  on  the  part  of  so  many  who 
are  content  with  their  pork  dinners  and  small  spend, 
ings,  is  very  harmful  to  the  Agricultural  interests  of 
the  country.  Young  America  abhors  sleepiness,  and 
does  not  gravitate,  of  choice,  toward  a  pursuit  which 
seems  to  encourage  it.  The  conclusion  and  the  con 
viction  have  been,  with  earnest  young  men,  that  a 
profession  which  did  not  stimulate  to  greater  activity 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  215 

and  larger  triumphs,  and  a  more  Christian  amplitude 
of  life,  could  not  be  worth  the  following.  Nothing 
about  it  or  in  it  seemed  to  have  affinity  with  the 
great  springs  of  human  progress  otherwheres ;  a 
lumpish,  serf  life,  it  seemed — bound  to  the  glebe, 
and  cropping  its  nourishment  thence,  like  kine. 

Again,  the  extravagance  of  those  who  have 
undertaken  farming  as  a  mere  amusement,  has 
greatly  damaged  its  character  as  a  pursuit  worthy 
the  enlistment  of  earnest  workers.  Our  friend,  Mr. 
Tall  weed,  who,  with  his  Wall-street  honors  fresh 
upon  him,  comes  to  the  country  to  grow  tomatoes  at 
a  cost  of  five  dollars  the  dozen,  and  who  puts  a  sack 
of  superphosphate  to  a  garden  row  of  sweet  corn, 
may  make  monstrosities  for  the  exhibition  tables,  but 
he  is  not  inviting  emulation  ;  he  is  simply  commit 
ting  an  Agricultural  debauch.  And  an  Agricultural 
debauch  pays  no  better  than  any  other. 

But  between  these  extremes,  there  is  room  for  a 
sober  business  faculty,  and  for  an  array  of  good 
sense.  With  these  two  united,  success  may  be 
counted  on  ;  not  brilliant  perhaps,  for  in  farming 
there  are  no  opportunities  for  sudden  or  explosive 
success.  The  farmer  digs  into  no  gold  lead.  He 
sp rings  no  trap,  like  the  lawyer  or  tradesmen.  His 
successes,  when  most  decided,  are  orderly,  normal, 
and  cumulative.  He  must  needs  bring  a  cool  tern- 


216  MY  FARM. 

per,  and  the  capacity — to  wait.  If  lie  plant  a  thous 
and  guineas — however  judiciously, — they  will  not 
sprout  to-morrow.  There  have  been,  I  know,  Multi- 
caulis  fevers,  and  Peabody  seedlings ;  but  these  are 
exceptional ;  and  the  prizes  which  come  through 
subornation  of  the  Patent  Office,  are  rare,  and  dearly 
paid  for. 

Again,  it  must  be  remembered,  that  all  success 
depends  more  on  the  style  of  the  man,  than  on  the 
style  of  his  business.  For  one  who  is  thoroughly  in 
earnest,  farming  offers  a  fair  field  for  effort.  But 
the  man  who  is  only  half  in  earnest,  who  thinks  that 
costly  barns,  and  imported  stock,  and  jaunty  fencing, 
and  a  nicely-rolled  lawn  are  the  great  objects  of 
attainment,  may  accomplish  pretty  results  ;  but  they 
will  be  small  ones. 

So  the  dilettante  farmer,  who  has  a  smattering 
of  science,  whose  head  is  filled  with  nostrums,  who 
thinks  his  salts  will  do  it  all ;  who  doses  a  crop — now 
to  feebleness,  and  now  to  an  unnatural  exuberance  ; 
who  dawdles  over  his  fermentations,  while  the  neigh 
bor's  oxen  are  breaking  into  his  rye  field ;  who  has 
no  managing  Capacity — no  breadth  of  vision, — who 
sends  two  men  to  accomplish  the  work  of  one — let 
such  give  up  all  hope  of  making  farming  a  lucra 
tive  pursuit.  If,  however,  a  man  be  entirely  in 
earnest,  if  he  have  the  sagacity  to  see  all  over  his 


CROPS  AND  PROFITS.  217 

farm — to  systematize  his  labor,  to  carry  out  his  plans 
punctually  and  thoroughly;  if  he  is  not  above 
economies,  nor  heedless  of  the  teachings  of  science, 
nor  unobservant  of  progress  otherwheres — let  him 
work, — for  he  will  have  his  reward. 

But  even  such  an  one  may,  very  likely,  never 
come  to  his  "  four  in  hand,"  except  they  be  colts  of 
his  own  raising ;  or  to  private  concerts  in  his  grouuds 
— except  what  the  birds  make. 


10 


HINDRANCES   AND   HELPS. 


-a. 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS. 


The  Argument* 

IT  will  be  perceived  by  the  reader  who  has  been 
kind  enough  to  follow  me  thus  far,  that  this 
book  neither  professes  to  be  wholly  practical,  nor 
jet  wholly  fanciful.  It  is— if  I  may  use  a  profes 
sional  expression— the  fruit  from  a  graft  of  the  fan 
ciful,  set  upon  the  practical ;  and  this  is  a  style  of 
grafting  which  is  of  more  general  adoption  in  the 
world  than  we  are  apt  to  imagine.  Commercial  life 
is  not  wholly  free  from  this  easy  union, — nor  yet  the 
clerical.  All  speculative  forays,  whether  in  the 
southern  seas  or  on  the  sea  of  metaphysics,  are  to  be 
credited  to  the  graft  Fancy ;  and  all  routine,  whether 
of  ledger  or  of  liturgy,  go  to  the  stock-account  of  the 
Practical.  Nor  is  the  last  necessarily  always  profit, 
and  the  other  always  loss.  There  are,  I  am  sure,  a 


222  MY  FARM. 

great  many  Practical  failures  in  the  world,  and  the 
number  of  Fanciful  successes  is  unbounded. 

I  have  endeavored  more  especially  to  meet  and  to 
guide,  so  far  as  I  may,  the  mental  drift  of  those  who 
think  of  rural  life,  either  present  or  prospective, — 
not  as  a  mere  money-making  career  (like  a  dip  into 
mining) — nor  yet  as  the  idle  gratification  of  a  caprice. 
No  sensible  man  who  establishes  himself  in  a  country 
home,  desires  that  the  acres  about  him  should  prove 
wholly  unremunerative,  and  simple  conduits  of  his 
money ;  nor  yet  does  he  wish  to  drive  such  a  sharp 
bargain  with  his  land  as  will  cause  his  home  to  be 
shorn  of  all  the  luxuries,  and  the  legitimate  charms 
of  a  country  life.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  I  hope 
for  sensible  readers,  and  direct  my  observations  ac 
cordingly.  With  this  intent  I  propose,  in  this  last 
division  of  my  book,  to  review  all  the  helps  and  hin 
drances  to  the  success  and  the  rational  enjoyment  of 
a  farm-life.  I  shall  not  reason  the  matter  so  closely 
as  I  might  do,  if  I  were  addressing  the  attendants 
upon  a  County-Fair,  but  shall  scatter  my  hints  and 
experiences  through  a  somewhat  ample  margin  of 
illustrative  text,  from  which  the  practical  man  may 
excerpt  his  little  nuggets  of  information  or  sugges 
tion, — as  the  case  may  be ;  and  the  reader  who  is  pas- 
torally  inclined,  may  find  frequent  dashes  of  country 
perfume,  that  shall  deftly  cover  the  ammoniacal  scents. 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  223 

Agricultural  Chemistry. 

WHEN  a  man  buys  clean  copies  of  Liebig  and 
of  Boussingault,  and  walks  into  possession 
of  his  land  with  the  books  under  his  arm,  and  an 
assured  conviction  that  with  their  aid,  he  is  about  to 
supplant  altogether  the  old  practice,  and  commit 
havoc  with  old  theories,  and  raise  stupendous  crops, 
and  drive  all  his  old-fashioned  neighbors  to  the  wall, — 
he  is  laboring  under  a  mistake.  His  calves  will  very 
likely  take  the  '  scours  ; '  the  cut-worms  will  slice  off 
his  phosphated  corn ;  the  Irish  maid  will  pound  his 
cream  into  a  frothy  chowder ; — in  which  events  he 
will  probably  lose  his  temper ;  or,  if  a  cool  man,  will 
retire  under  a  tree,  and  read  a  fresh  chapter  out  of 
Liebig. 

There  are  a  great  many  contingencies  about 
farming,  which  chemistry  does  not  cover,  and  proba 
bly  never  will.  People  talk  of  agricultural  chemistry 
as  if  it  were  a  special  chemistry  for  the  farmer's 
advantage.  The  truth  is  (and  it  was  well  set  forth,  I 
remember,  in  a  lecture  of  Professor  Johnson's),  there 
is  no  such  thing  as  agricultural  chemistry;  and  the 
term  is  not  only  a  misnomer,  but  misleads  egregious- 
ly.  There  is  no  more  a  chemistry  of  agriculture  than 
there  is  a  chemistry  of  horse-flesh,  or  a  conchology 
of  egg-shells.  Chemistry  concerns  all  organic  and 


224  MY  FARM. 

inorganic  matters ;  and,  if  you  have  any  of  these 
about  your  barn-yards,  it  concerns  them  ;  it  tells  you 
— if  your  observation  and  experience  can't  determine 
— what  they  are.  Of  course  it  may  be  an  aid  to 
agriculture ;  and  so  are  wet-weather,  and  a  good  hoe, 
and  grub,  and  common-sense,  and  industry.  It  may 
explain  things  you  would  not  otherwise  understand; 
it  may  correct  errors  of  treatment ;  it  may  protect 
you  from  harpies  who  vend  patented  manures — not 
because  it  is  agricultural  chemistry  ;  but,  I  should  say 
rather,  looking  to  a  good  deal  of  farm  practice — be- 
causo  it  is  not  agricultural,  and  because  it  deals  in  cer 
tainties,  and  not  plausibilities.  There  is  such  a  thing 
as  religion,  and  it  helps,  sometimes,  to  purify  Demo 
crats  and  sometimes  Republicans ;  but  who  thinks  of 
talking — unless  his  head  is  turned — about  democratic 
religion,  or  republican  Christianity  ? 

The  error  of  the  thing  works  ill,  as  all  errors  do 
in  the  end.  It  indoctrinates  weak  cultivators  with 
the  belief  that  the  truths  they  find  set  down  in 
agricultural  chemistries,  are  agricultural  truths,  as 
well  as  chemical  truths ;  and  thereupon,  they  mount 
a  promising  one  as  a  hobby,  and  go  riding  to  the 
wall.  Chemistry  is  an  exact  science,  and  Agriculture 
is  an  experimental  art,  and  always  will  be,  until  rains 
stop,  and  bread  grows  full-baked.  A .  chemical  truth 
is  a  truth  for  all  the  world  and  the  ages  to  come ; 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  225 

and  if  you  can  use  it  in  the  making  of  shoe-blacking, 
or  to  dye  your  whiskers, — do  so  ;  but  don't  for  that 
reason  call  it  Whisker-chemistry. 

It  is  a  chemical  truth  that  an  alkali  will  neutralize 
an  acid  if  you  furnish  enough  of  it ;  and  if,  with  that 
truth  festering  in  your  brain,  you  can  contrive  to 
neutralize  your  entire  fund  of  oxalic-acid,  so  that  no 
sorrel  shaU  thenceforth  grow, — pray  do  so.  But  I  do 
not  think  you  can  ;  and  first,  because  the  soil — to 
which  quarter  you  would  very  naturally  direct  your 
alkaline  attack — may  be  utterly  free  of  any  oxalic 
acid  whatever ;  its  presence  in  the  plant,  is  no 
evidence  of  its  presence  in  the  soil.  Pears  have  a 
modicum  of  pectic  acid  at  a  certain  stage  of  their 
ripeness,  but  I  suspect  it  would  puzzle  a  sharp  chem 
ist  to  detect  any  in  the  soil  of  a  pear-orchard.  And 
even  if  the  acid  were  a  mineral  acid,  and  were  neutral 
ized — it  must  be  remembered — that  to  neutralize,  is 
only  to  establish  change  of  condition,  and  not  to  de 
stroy  ; — how  know  you  that  the  little  fibrous  rootlets 
will  not  presently  be  laying  their  fine  mouths  to  the  neu 
tral  base,  and  by  a  subtle  alchemy  of  their  own,  work 
out  such  restoration  as  shall  mock  at  your  efforts — in 
all  their  rampant  green,  and  their  red  tassels  of  bloom  ? 

The  presence  of  any  particular  substance  in  a 
crop,  does  not  ipso  facto,  warrant  the  application  of 

the  same  substance  to  the  soil  as  the  condition  of  in- 
10* 


226  MY  FARM. 

creased  vigor.  The  man  who, — having  retired  to' 
the  shade  for  a  fresh  chapter  of  Liebig, — finds  that 
cellulose  enters  largely  into  the  structure  of  his 
plants,  and  thereupon  gives  his  crops  a  dressing  of 
clean,  pine  saw-dust,  would  very  likely  have  his  laboi 
for  his  pains.  That  wonderful  vital  laboratory  of 
the  plant,  has  its  own  way  of  effecting  combinations  ; 
and  stealing,  as  it  does,  the  elements  of  its  needed 
cellulose,  in  every  laughing  toss  of  its  leaves — it 
scorns  your  offering. 

It  is  a  chemical  truth  that  the  starch  in  potatoes 
or  wheat,  is  the  same  thing  with  the  woody  fibre  of 
a  tree ;  but  it  is  not  an  agricultural  fact — differs  as 
widely  from  it  in  short,  as  a  stiffened  shirt-collar 
from  the  main-mast  ot  a  three-decker  ship.  A  far 
mer  comes  to  the  chemist  with  some  dust  or  bolus 
from  a  far-away  place,  and  asks  what  is  in  it ;  he  can 
tell  upon  examination,  and  if,  after  such  examination 
he  finds  it  to  possess  a  large  percentage  of  soluble 
phosphoric  acid,  he  will  advise  its  use  as  a  manure, 
and  can  promise  that  it  will  contribute  largely  to  the 
vigor  of  a  wheat  crop  ;  all  this — not  simply  because 
phosphoric-acid  is  a  constituent  part  of  the  grain,  but 
because  he  knows  that  other  dressings  containing  a 
like  element,  have  invariably  so  contributed ;  the 
fact  being  established  by  repeated  farm-trials.  But 
it  is  not  a  result  detenninable,  so  far  as  a  field-crop 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  227 

is  concerned,  by  simple  chemical  investigation ;  nor 
could  it  be  so  determinable,  unless  you  could  estab 
lish  the  crop  and  feed  it,  under  those  conditions  of 
alienation  from  all  other  influences,  by  which  or 
under  which  alone,  the  chemist  is  enabled  to  estab 
lish  the  severity  of  his  conclusions. 

The  power  of  the  chemist  to  decompose,  to  un 
ravel,  to  tear  in  pieces,  and  to  name  and  classify  every 
separate  part,  is  something  wonderful ;  but  his  power 
to  combine  is  less  miraculous.  Give  him  all  the  car 
bonic-acid  in  the  world  and  he  cannot  make  us  a 
diamond,  or  a  lump  of  charcoal.  And  when,  with  the 
natural  combination  is  associated  a  vital  principle, 
(as  in  plants),  controlling,  amplifying,  decomposing 
at  its  will,  his  power  shrinks  into  still  smaller  dimen 
sions.  Faithful  and  long-continued  observation  of 
the  mysterious  processes  of  nature,  will  alone  justify 
a  theory  of  plant-nutrition.  A  large  part  of  this  ob 
servation  is  supplied  by  the  history  of  farm-ex 
periences,  and  another  part  is  supplied  by  the  earnest 
investigations  of  special  scientific  inquirers.  Where 
the  two  tally  and  sustain  each  other, — one  may  be 
sure  of  standing  upon  safe  ground.  But  where  they 
are  antagonistic,  one  has  need  to  weigh  conflicting  evi 
dence  well,  not  presuming  hastily  that  either  practical 
experience,  or  a  special  science  h  s,  as  yet,  a  mo 
nopoly  of  all  the  truths  which  lie  at  the  base  of  tho 


228  MY  FARM. 

"mystery  of  husbandry."  For  these  reasons  it  is, 
that  I  say, — let  no  man  rashly  hope  to  revolutionize 
farming,  upon  the  strength  of  clean  copies  of  Liebig 
and  Boussingault. 

A  Gypseous  Illustration. 

THE  farming  community  has  a  great  respect  for 
men  of  science  ;  it  never  thinks  of  distrusting 
any  of  their  dicta,  so  long  as  they  are  conveyed  in 
scientific  and  only  half-intelligible  language.  The 
working-farmer  is  altogether  too  busy  and  shrewd 
a  man  to  controvert  a  statement  of  which  he  has 
only  vague  and  muddy  comprehension.  His  dignity 
is  saved,  by  bowing  acquiescence,  and  passing  it  un 
challenged.  Thus, — if  the  Professor,  talking  in  the 
interests  of  agriculture,  says  :  "  Gypsum  is  very  ser 
viceable  in  fixing  the  ammonia  which  is  brought 
down  from  the  atmosphere  by  showers,"  the  com 
mon-sense  farm-listener  is  disposed  to  admit  so  airy 
a  truth.  But  if  the  Professor,  meeting  him  over  the 
fence,  says :  "  Plaster  is  an  excellent  manure,"  the 
common-sense  man  retorts : 

"  Waal — d'n'know  ;  depends  a  leetle  upon  the 
sile,  in  my  opinion." 

But  as  the  scientific  man  confines  himself  mostly 
to  the  language  of  the  desk,  and  meets  with  an  ad 
miring  assent  he  is  apt,  I  think,  to  generalize  some- 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  229 

what  too  loosely  and  rashly  in  his  theories  of  applied 
science.  Naturally  enough,  confident  in  the  results 
of  his  own  investigation,  he  entertains  a  certain  con 
tempt  for  a  merely  empirical  art ,  he  undervalues  the 
experience  and  practices  of  its  patrons,  and  proposes 
to  lay  down  a  law  for  them,  which,  having  scientific 
truth  for  its  basis,  may  work  unvarying  results.  I 
do  not  know  how  I  can  better  illustrate  this,  than  by 
noticing  some  of  the  various  theories  which  have 
obtained,  in  respect  to  the  fertilizing  action  of 
gypsum. 

A  farmer,  for  instance,  finds  himself  within  easy 
reach  of  a  large  supply  of  this  salt,  and  being  chemi 
cally  inclined,  he  sets  himself  to  the  task  of  reading 
what  has  been  written  on  the  subject,— in  the  hope, 
possibly,  of  astounding  the  neighbors,  and  glutting 
the  corn  market. 

At  the  outset  I  may  remark,  that  farm-experience 
has  as  yet  found  no  law  by  which  to  govern  the 
application  of  gypsum ;  on  one  field  it  succeeds ;  in 
another,  to  all  appearance  precisely  the  same,  it  fails  ; 
at  one  time  it  would  seem  as  if  its  efficacy  depended 
on  showers  following  closely  upon  its  application ; 
in  other  seasons,  showers  lose  their  effect.  In  one 
locality,  a  few  bushels  to  the  acre  work  strange 

O 

improvement,  and  in  another,  fi?ty  bushels  work  no 
change  whatever.     Now — it  is  a  hill  pasture  that  de- 


230  MY  FARM. 

lights  in  it,  and  again — it  is  an  alluvial  meadow. 
Hence  it  offers  peculiarly  one  of  those  cases,  where 
an  observant  and  earnest  farmer  would  be  desirous 
of  calling  in  the  aid  of  scientific  opinion. 

And  what  will  he  find  ? 

Sir  Humphry  Davy,  that  devout  old  gentleman, 
who  was  as  good  an  angler  as  he  was  chemist,  ex 
ploded  the  idea  prevalent  in  his  day — that  gypsum 
was  beneficial  by  promoting  putrefaction  of  manurial 
substances — and  expressed  the  opinion  that  it  was 
absorbed  by  the  plants  bodily;  at  least  by  those 
plants  whose  ash  showed  large  percentage  of  sul 
phate  of  lime.  Sir  Humphry  was  honest ;  the 
theory  was  not  too  absurd ;  the  farmers  were  doubt 
less  glad  to  get  a  handle  to  their  talk  about  plaster ; 
and  so  for  a  dozen  years  or  more,  the  lucerne  and 
clover  went  on  absorbing  the  gypsum.  At  last 
some  inquisitive  party  ascertained,  by  careful  experi 
ment,  that  a  field  of  clover  not  treated  with  gypsum, 
contained  as  large  a  percentage  of  sulphate  of  lime  in 
its  ash,  as  another  field  which  had  been  treated  to 
the  salt.  The  inference  was  plain,  that  the  superior 
vigor  of  the  last  was  not  attributable  to  simple 
absorption  of  the  sulphate,  and  the  theory  of  Davy 
quietly  lapsed. 

Chaptal,  the  French  chemist,  speaks  of  gypsum  in 
a  loose  way  as  a  stimulator ;  but  in  what  particular 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  231 

direction  its  stimulating  qualities  are  supposed  to 
work,  he  does  not  inform  us. 

About  the  year  1840,  I  think,  Dr.  Dana,  of  Low 
ell,  published  a  bouncing  little  book  called  a  Muck 
Manual,  in  which  he  affirmed  very  stoutly  that  gyp 
sum  was  quietly  decomposed  by  the  roots  of  the 
plants,  when  its  sulphuric  acid  flew  off  at  the  silicates, 
and  worried  them  into  soluble  shape  ;  and  its  lime, 
on  the  other  side,  flew  off  at  the  geine,  pounding 
that  into  a  good  relish ;  in  short,  he  made  out  so  charm 
ing  a  little  theory, — so  vivacious  in  its  action, — so 
appetizing  to  turnips,  and  so  authoritatively  stated, 
that  we  farmers  must  needs  accept  it  at  a  glance,  and 
take  off  our  hats,  with—"  That's  it,"— "  I  thought  so," 
— "  The  very  thing." 

But  straight  upon  this,  like  a  thunder-clap,  comes 
Liebig,*  who  declares,  in  his  authoritative  way,  that 
the  value  of  gypsum  "  is  due  to  its  faculty  of  fixing 
the  small  quantity  of  carbonate  of  ammonia,  brought 
down  by  the  rain  and  the  dew  ;  "  at  this,  we  farmers 
put  on  our  hats  again,  and  waited  for  the  rain. 

Some  two  or  three  years  after,  M.  Boussingault, 
who  had  gone  through  the  South- American  wars 
under  Bolivar,  and  studied  agriculture  at  Quito,  as 
well  as  on  his  own  country-estate  of  Bechelbron, 

*  His  first  book  appeared  in  America,  if  I  am  not  mistaken, 
in  1841. 


232  MY  FARM 

entertains  us  with  the  report. — in  his  mildlv  authorita. 
tive  way,  and  sustained  by  great  weight  of  evidence, 
— that  Dr.  Liebig  is  utterly  wrong  in  his  theory, 
and  that  the  value  of  gypsum  is  due  entirely  to  the 
lime  which  it  introduces  into  the  soil ; — the  sulphuric 
acid,  which  played  such  a  lively  game  under  the  pen 
of  Dr.  Dana — counting  for  nothing. 

By  the  time  this  stage  of  the  inquiry  is  reached, 
the  investigating  young  farmer,  with  whom  I  entered 
upon  this  illustration,  might  be  safely  supposed  to 
be  slightly  muddled  ;  and  yet,  with  a  comparatively, 
clear  recollection  of  the  last-presented  theory  in  his 
mind,  he  might  farther  be  supposed  to  consider  the 
propriety  of  buying  lime  at  eight  cents  a  bushel, 
rather  than  gypsum  at  sixty  cents. 

But  he  has  hardly  formed  this  decision,  and  seen 
his  lime  dumped  upon  his  clover-field,  when  he 
receives  a  copy  of  Dr.  Liebig's  final  work  upon  the 
Natural  Laws  of  Husbandry.  Turning  with  nervous 
haste  to  the  Doctor's  discussion  of  the  sulphate  of 
lime,  he  finds  these  startling  statements  :  "  It  may  be 
safely  assumed  that  in  cases  where  gypsum  is  found 
to  be  favorable  to  the  growth  of  clover,  the  cause 
must  not  be  sought  for  in  the  lime  ;  and  since  arable 
soil  has  the  property  of  absorbing  ammonia  from  the 
air  and  rain  water,  and  fixing  it  in  a  higher  degree 
than  salts  of  lime,  there  is  only  the  sulphuric  acid 


HINDRANCES  AND   HELPS.  2-i;3 

left  to  look  to  for  an  explanation  of  the  favorable  ac 
tion  of  gypsum." 

And  in  this  muddle  I  leave  our  young  farmer, 
contemplating,  in  an  abstracted  manner,  his  lime 
heap,  and  reflecting  upon  the  wonders  of  nature. 

Yet  it  is  not  altogether  a  muddle.  Science  has 
failed  in  substantiating  a  theory  of  action — only  where 
all  farm  experience  is  equally  at  fault ;  when  the  two 
march  together,  they  pluck  up  triumphs  by  the  roots. 
The  particular  action  of  gypsum,  with  a  safe  rule  for 
its  application,  remains  one  of  the  mysteries  of  the 
craft ;  and  there  are  a  great  many  others.  Science  is 
not  discredited,  however,  by  the  antagonism  of  such 
men  as  Liebig  and  Boussingault.  Stout  men  will 
stagger,  when  they  explore  the  way  for  us  into  the 
dark.  The  dignity  of  science  will  suffer  more  from 
the  pestilent  iteration  of  smatterers  who  presume  to 
solve  all  the  riddles  of  nature  in  their  own  little 
retorts.  And  the  danger  is  all  the  greater  from  the 
fact  that  uninstructed  farmers  render  an  instinctive 
respect  and  confidence  to  a  man  who  professes 
familiarity  with  science.  It  is  never  imagined  by 
them,  that  one  who  would  write  C^E^O^-f-^HO 
for  malic  acid, — would  tell  an  untruth  or  take  airs 
upon  himself.  Yet  I  think  it  may  be  safely 
conceded  that  a  rash  man,  or  a  mischievous  man 
may  cover  falsehood  under  such  formula?,  as  easily 


234  MY  FARM. 

— as   if  he  edited  a  morning   paper.     And  I  really 
do   not   know  how   I   could    put   the  matter  more 

strongly. 

With  respect,  to  gypsum, — and  in  close  of  this 
special  topic, — I  may  say  that  I  have  found  it  some 
times  of  service  upon  young  clover,  and  sometimes 
of  no  service  at  all.  Upon  old  pasture  land,  it  has, 
with  me,  uniformly  counted  for  nothing ;  and  again, 
I  have  never  failed  to  find  an  appreciable  increase  of 
the  crop  of  potatoes,  where  I  have  sown  gypsum  in 
the  trenches  at  planting.  It  is  certain  that  we  have 
no  right  to  condemn  the  salt,  simply  because  we 
cannot  detect  the  precise  mode  of  its  operation.  That 
mode,  I  am  inclined  to  believe  very  complex,  and 
that  no  uniform  law  will  ever  meet  the  requirements 
of  the  case ;  nor  have  I  a  doubt  but  that  in  process 
of  time,  and  under  the  tests  of  a  future  and  finer 
chemistry,  and  of  a  fuller  experience,  every  one  of 
the  dilute  theories  named,  will  throw  down  its  little 
flocculent  precipitate  of  truth. 

Science  and  Practice. 

I  REMEMBER  once,  in  company  with  a  crowd 
of  interested   auditors,    listening   to   a  justly 
distinguished  pomologist,  who,  in  the  course  of  his 
peroration  in  praise  of  scientific  study,  suggested  the 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  235 

great  advantage  of  analyzing  all  the  different  pears, 
and  the  different  soils  under  culture,  so  that  they 
might  be  minutely  adjusted  each  to  each.  Of  course 
the  worthy  old  gentleman  never  did  such  a  thing ; 
and  (being  a  shrewd  man)  never  means  tx  Yet  it 
seemed  not  a  very  bad  thing — to  say.  The  lesser 
poinologists  all  wagged  their  heads  approvingly,  but 
without  any  serious  thought  of  following  the  advice  ; 
the  embryo  chemists  fairly  gushed  over  in  approval ; 
and  the  only  doubt  expressed,  was  in  the  faces  of  cer 
tain  earnest,  honest,  old  farmers, — who  had  already 
paid  their  twenty-five  dollars  for  a  soil  analysis,  to 
the  eminent  Professor  Mapes, — and  of  one  or  two 
scientific  adepts,  who,  I  thought,  gave  a  twirl  to  their 
tongues  in  the  left  cheek, — rather  evasively.  In 
general,  I  find  that  the  most  modest  opinions  in  regard 
to  the  agricultural  aids  of  applied  science,  come  from 
the  men  of  most  distinguished  scientific  attainment ; 
and  the  exaggerated  promises  and  suggestions  flow 
from  those  who  are  slightly  indoctrinated,  and  who 
make  up  by  uproar  of  words,  and  aggregation  of  pre 
tentious  claims,  for  the  quiet  confidence  and  far-sight 
ed  moderation  of  real  science.  Even  so  we  find  a 
General  in  command — looking  from  end  to  end  of  the 
field — modest  in  his  promises,  doubtful  by  reason  of 
his  knowledge  ;  while  some  blatant  Colonel,  puffy 
with  regimental  valor,  and  knowing  the  positions  only 


236  MY  FARM. 

by  the  confused   roar  of  artillery,   will   pompously 
threaten  to  bag  every  man  of  the  enemy ! 

But  aside  from  the  exaggeration  alluded  to,— and 
of  which  I  should  reckon  so  minute  a  soil-analysis 
as  to  determine  whau  ground  would  most  favor  the 
development  of  pectw  in  a  baking  pear,  and  ofpectic 
acid  in  a   Bartlett,  a  fair  sample,— there    are  other 
hindrances  to  the  effective  and  profitable  co-labora, 
tion  of  scientific  men  \vith  the  practical  farmer.    The 
latter  has  a  wall  about  him  of  self-confidence,  igno 
rance  of  technicals,  great  common-sense,  and  awkward 
prejudices,  which  the  scientific  man,   with  his  preci 
sion,  his  fineness  of  observation,  his  remote  analogies, 
and  his  impatience  of  guess-work,  is  not  accustomed 
or  fitted  to  undermine.     He  may  breach  indeed  suc 
cessfully  all* the  old  methods,  but  if  the  old  methodist 
does  not  detect,  or  recognize  the  breach,  what  boots 
it  ?     Science  must  stoop  to  the  work,  and  show  him 
a  corn  crop  that  is  larger  and  grown  more  cheaply 
than  his  own ;  this  is  sending  a  shot  home. 

Let  me  illustrate,  by  a  little  talk,  which  I  think 
will  have  the  twang  of  realism  about  it. 

A  shrewd  chemist,  devoting  himself  to  the  mis 
sionary  work  of  building  up  farming  by  the  aid  of 
his  science,  pays  a  parochial  visit  to  one  of  the  back- 
sliders  whom  he  counts  most  needful  of  reformation. 
The  backslider, — I  will  call  him  Nathan, — is  breaking 


HINDRANCES  AND   HELPS.  237 

ap  a  field,  and  is  applying  the  manure  in  an  unfer- 
mented  and  unctuous  state  ; — the  very  act  of  sinning, 
according  to  the  particular  theory  of  our  chemist, 
perhaps,  who  urges  that  manures  should  be  applied 
only  after  thorough  fermentation. 

He  approaches  our  ploughing  farmer  with  a 
"  Good  morning." 

"  Mornin',"  returns  Nathan  (who  never  wastes 
words  in  compliment). 

"  I  see  you  use  your  manure  unfermented." 

"  Waal,  I  d'n'know — guess  it's  about  right ;  smells 
pooty  good,  doan't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  don't  you  lose  something  in  the  smell?" 

"  Waal,  d'n'know  ; — kinder  hard  to  bottle  much 
of  a  smell,  ain't  it  ?  " 

"  But  why  don't  you  compost  it ;  pack  up  your 
long  manure  with  turf  and  muck,  so  that  they  will 
absorb  the  ammonia  ?  " 

"  The  what  ?— (Gee,  Bright ! )" 

"  Ammonia ;  precisely  what  makes  the  guano  act 
so  quickly." 

"  Ainmony,  is  it  ?  Waal, — guanner  has  a  pooty 
good  smell  tew  ;  my  opinion  is,  that  manure  ought  to 
ha.ve  a  pooty  strong  smell,  or  'taint  good  for  nuthin'." 

Scientific  gentleman  a  little  on  the  hip ;  but  re 
vives  under  the  pungency  of  the  manure. 

"  But  if  you  were  to  incorporate  your  long  manure 


238  MY  FARM. 

with  turf  and  other  material,  you  would  make  the 
turf  good  manure,  and  put  all  in  a  better  state  for 
plant  food." 

"  Waal — (considering) — I've  made  compo's  afore 
now ; — dooz  pooty  well  for  garden  sass  and  sich  like, 
but  it  seems  to  me  kinder  like  puttin'  water  to  half 
a  glass  o'  sperit ;  it  makes  a  drink  a  plaguey  sight 
stronger'n  water,  no  doubt  o'  that ;  but  after  all 's 
said  and  dun, — 'taint  so  strong  as  the  rum.  (Haw, 
Buck ;  why  don't  ye  haw  ! )" 

Scientific  gentleman  wipes  his  spectacles,  but  fol 
lows  after  the  plough. 

"  Do  you  think,  neighbor,  you're  ploughing  this 
sod  as  deeply  as  it  should  be  ?  " 

"Waal— (Gee,  Bright !)— it's  as  folks  think;  I 
doan't  like  myself  to  turn  up  much  o'  the  yaller  ;  it's 
a  kind  o'  cold  sile." 

"  Yes,  but  if  you  exposed  it  to  the  air  and  light, 
wouldn't  it  change  character,  and  so  add  to  the  depth 
of  your  land  ?  " 

"  Doant  know  but  it  might ;  but  I  ha'n't  much 
opinion  o'  yaller  dirt,  nohow ;  I  kinder  like  to  put 
my  corn  and  potatoes  into  a  good  black  sile,  if  I  can 
get  it." 

"  But  color  is  a  mere  accidental  circumstance,  and 
has  no  relation  to  the  quality  of  the  soil." 

("  Gee,  Bright !  gee  !  ") 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  239 

"  There  are  a  great  many  mineral  elements  of 
food  lying  below,  which  plants  seek  after  ;  don't  you 
find  your  clover  roots  running  down  into  the  yellow 
soil  ?  " 

"  Waal,  clover's  a  kind  of  a  tap-rooted  thing, — 
nateral  for  it  to  run  down  ;  but  if  it  runs  down  arter 
the  yaller,  what's  the  use  o'  bringin'  on  it  up  ?  " 

The  scientific  gentleman  sees  his  chance  for  a 
dig. 

"  But  if  you  can  make  the  progress  of  the  roots 
easier  by  loosening  the  sub-soil,  or  incorporating  a 
portion  of  it  with  the  upper  soil,  you  increase  the 
facilities  for  growth,  and  enlarge  your  crops." 

"  Waal,  that's  kinder  rash'nal ;  and  ef  I  could  find 
a  man  that  would  undertake  to  do  a  little  of  the 
stirrin'  of  the  yaller,  without  bringin'  much  on't  up, 
and  bord  himself,  I'd  furnish  half  the  team  and  let 
him  go  ahead." 

"  But  wouldn't  the  increased  product  pay  for  all 
the  additional  labor  ?  " 

"  Doant  b'lieve  it  would,  nohow,  between  you 
and  I.  You  see,  you  gentlemen  with  your  pockets 
full  o'  money  (scientific  gentleman  coughs — slightly), 
talk  about  diggin'  here  and.diggin'  there,  and  turnin' 
up  the  yaller,  and  making  compo's,  but  all  that  takes 
a  thunderin'  sight  o'  work.  (Gee,  Bright ! — g'lang, 
Buck !  )" 


240  MY  FARM. 

The  scientific  gentleman  wipes  his  spectacles,  and 
tries  a  new  entering  wedge. 

"  How  do  you  feed  your  cattle,  neighbor  ?  " 

"  Waal,  good  English  hay  ;  now  and  then  a  bite 
o'  oats,  'cordin'  as  the  work  is." 

"  But  do  you  make  no  beeves  ?  " 

"  Heh  ?  " 

"  Do  you  fatten  no  cattle  ?  " 

"  Yaas,  long  in  the  fall  o'  the  year  I  put  up  four 
or  five  head,  about  the  time  turnips  are  comin'  in." 

"  And  have  you  ever  paid  any  attention  to  their 
food  with  reference  to  its  fat-producing  qualities,  or 
its  albuminoids  ?  " 

"  (Gee,  Bright !)—  bumy— what  ?  " 

"  Albuminoids— name  given  to  flesh  producers,  in 
distinction  from  oily  food." 

"  Oh,— never  used  'em.  Much  of  a  feed?  (G'lang, 
Buck ! )" 

"  They  are  constituent  parts  of  a  good  many 
varieties  of  food  ;  but  they  go  only  to  make  muscle  ; 
it  isn't  desirable  you  know  to  lay  on  too  much  fatty 
matter." 

"  Heh  ?— keep  off  the  fat  do  they  ?  (Gee,  Bright !) 
Dum  poor  feed,  then,  in  my  opinion." 

By  this  time  the  end  of  the  furrow  is  reached, 
and  the  scientific  gentleman  Avalks  pensively  toward 
the  fence,  while  Nathan's  dog  that  has  been  sleeping 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  241 

under  a  tree,  wakes  up,  and  sniffs  sharply  at   the 
bottom  of  the  stranger's  pantaloons. 

I  have  written  thus  much,  in  this  vein,  to  show 
the  defensible  position  of  many  of  the  old  style 
fanners,  crusted  over  with  their  prejudices — many  of 
them  well  based,  it  must  be  admitted — and  armed 
with  an  inextinguishable  shrewdness.  The  only  way 
to  prick  through  the  rind  is  to  show  them  a  big  crop 
grown  at  small  cost,  and  an  orderly  and  profitable 
method,  gradually  out-ranking  their  slatternly  hus 
bandry.  Nor  can  I  omit  to  say  in  this  connection, 
that  the  free  interchange  of  questions  and  answers, 
and  unstarched  companionship,  which  belonged  to  the 
New  Haven  Agricultural  Convention  of  1860,  are 
among  the  best  means  of  breaking  down  the  walls 
of  demarcation,  and  establishing  chemical  affinities 
between  Science  and  Practice. 


Lack  of  Precision. 

T  |  ^HE  manufacturer,  in  ordinary  times,  can  tell  us 
JL     with  a  good  deal  of  certainty  how  much  work 
he  can  turn  out  in  any  given  month,  and  what  his 
profits  will  be.     The  farmer,  whose  crops  are  depend 
ent  in  a  greater  or  less  degree  upon  contingencies  of 
wet,  or  rain,  or  cold,  over  which  he  has  no  control,  is 
less  positive ;  and  MS  a  consequence,  I  think,  he  grows 
11 


242  MY  FARM. 

into  an  exceedingly  loose  habit  of  thought  in  all  that 
regards  his  affairs.  Notwithstanding  his  punctilious 
ness  in  moneyed  details,  and  his  sharpness  at  a  bar 
gain,  he  has  a  more  vague  idea  of  his  real  where 
abouts  in  the  world  of  profit  and  loss,  than  any  man 
of  equal  capital  that  you  can  find.  If  he  has  a  little 
pile  in  stocking-legs  or  in  Savings  that  grows,— it  is 
profit ;  if  he  has  a  little  debt  at  the  grocer's  or  the 
bank  that  grows, — it  is  loss. 

There  is  not  one  in  fifty  who  can  tell  with  any 
thing  approaching  to  accuracy,  how  much  his  grain 
or  roots  cost  him  the  bushel  ;  not  one  in  fifty  who 
can  show  anything  like  a  passable  balance  sheet  of  a 
year's  transactions.  He  may  put  down  all  the  money 
he  receives  in  stumpy  figures,  and  all  the  money  he 
pays  out  in  other  stumpy  figures,  and  set  hio  oldest 
boy  to  the  Christmas  reckoning.  But  his  rent,  his 
personal  labor,  the  wear  and  tear,  the  waste,  the  con 
sumption,  the  unmarketed  growth,  assume  only  a 
hazy  indeterminate  outline,  within  which  the  sum  of 
the  stumpy  figures  is  lost.  Whether  he  is  raising 
corn  at  a  price  larger  than  the  market  one,  or  selling 
potatoes  for  a  third  less  than  they  cost  him,  is  an 
inquiry  he  never  submits  to  the  fatigue  and  precision 
of  accurate  investigation.  He  thinks  matters  are 
about  so  and  so  ;  his  oxen  are  worth  db'/at  so  much  ; 
his  oats  will  turn  about  thirty  bus'noir  to  the  acre. 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  243 

Nay,  he  carries  this  looseness  of  language  into 
matters  of  positive  knowledge  ;  the  straightest  stick 
of  timber  in  the  world  is  only  about  straight,  and  the 
politicians  are  about  as  dishonest  as  they  well  can  be 

Suppose  we  try  him  upon  his  corn  crop  ;  we  sub 
mit  that  it  looks  a  little  yellow. 

"  Waal — yes,  kinder  yeller  ;  t'ain't  fairly  caught 
hold  o'  the  dung  yit "  (pegging  away  with  his  hoe). 

"  Do  you  think  there's  any  profit  in  growing  corn, 
hereabout  ?  " 

"  Waal — don't  know  as  there  is  much ;  kinder 
like  to  make  a  little  pork,  and  have  a  little  about  for 
the  hens." 

"  But  why  not  buy  your  corn  and  raise  something 
else,  provided  you  can  buy  it,  as  you  often  can,  for 
sixty  or  seventy  cents  the  bushel." 

"  Waal — kinder  like  to  have  a  little  '  heater '  piece ; 
the  boys,  you  see,  hoe  it  out  in  odd  spells  ;  don't  pay 
out  much  for  help." 

"  But  the  boys  could  earn  their  seventy-five  cents 
a  day,  couldn't  they  ?  " 

"  Waal — suppose  they  might — about ;  but  kinder 
like  to  have  'em  about  home." 

"  Have  you  ever  tried  carrots  ?  " 

"  Waal — no  ;  kinder  back-achin'  work  to  weed 
carrits." 

And  not  only  does  this  apathetic  indifference  to 


244  MY  FARM. 

the  relative  profits  of  different  crops  prevail,  but  there 
is  no  proper  business  estimate  of  home  labor. 

We  often  see  it  affirmed,  admiringly,  that  such 
or  such  a  man  has  built  an  enormous  quantity  of  wall 
— so  many  feet  high  and  broad — or  dug  out  so  many 
rocks,  and  mostly  with  his  own  hands,  or  in  spare 
time  with  his  own  '  help ' ;  in  short,  it  is  intimated 
that  all  is  done  at  little  expense.  Now  this  is  very 
absurd;  great  work  involves  great  labor  ;  and  great 
labor  has  its  price.  You  may  do  it  in  the  night,  and 
call  it  no  labor ;  you  may  do  it  yourself,  and  call  it  no 
expense ;  but  there  is,  nevertheless,  a  great  deal  of 
positive  expenditure  of  both  muscle  and  time  which, 
if  not  given  to  this  work,  might  have  been  given  to 
another.  It  may  count  much  for  your  industry,  but 
not  one  whit  for  your  farming,  until  we  learn  if  the 
labor  has  been  judiciously  expended — has  paid,  in 
short.  And  to  determine  this,  we  must  estimate  the 
labor  at  its  market  value — whether  done  in  the  night, 
or  on  holidays. 

If  I  see  a  house  painted  all  over  in  diamonds  of 
every  hue,  and  express  distaste  for  the  wanton  waste 
of  labor,  it  is  no  answer  to  me  to  say — that  the  man 
did  it  in  odd  hours.  What  will  not  pay  for  doing  in 
even  hours,  will  never  pay  for  doing  in  odd  hours. 
It  is  no  excuse  for  waste  of  time  and  muscle,  to  waste 
them  in  the  dark.  Every  spade  or  hammer- stroke 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  245 

npon  the  farm — no  matter  whether  done  by  the 
master  or  the  master's  son,  or  master's  wife — no 
matter  whether  done  after  hours  or  before  hours — 
must  be  estimated  at  the  sum  such  labor  would  com 
mand  in  the  market. 

The  fallacy  is  only  another  indication  of  that 
woful  lack  of  precision  of  which  I  have  been  speak 
ing,  and  which,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  infects  more  or  less 
the  current  Agricultural  literature.  A  well-meaning 
man  gives  some  account  of  an  experiment  that  he 
has  undertaken,  and  is  so  loose  in  statement  of 
details,  so  inexplicit,  so  neglectful  to  make  known 
previous  conditions  of  soil,  or  conditions  of  cost,  that 
he  might  as  well  have  burst  a  few  soap-bubbles  in 
the  face  of  the  public. 

Even  in  reports  of  State  societies,  the  estimate  of 
labor  and  other  expenses  on  premium-crops  is  so 
various,  so  conflicting,  often  so  patently  and  egre- 
giously  wrong,  that  it  is  quite  impossible  to  arrive 
even  at  a  safe  average.  I  find  among  these  reports, 
the  calculation  of  some  short-figured  farmer,  who  has 
competed  for  a  premium  upon  his  carrots,  and  who 
has  the  effrontery  to  put  down  the  cost  of  cultivating 
and  harvesting  an  acre— at  twenty  dollars  !  Yet  he 
won  his  premium,  and  the  estimate  stands  recorded. 
The  committee  who  audited  and  accepted  such  a 
report — if  donkeys  were  on  exhibition — should  have 
been  put  round  the  track. 


246  MY  FARM, 


Knowing  too  Much. 

I  SOMETIMES  see  in  the  papers,  advertisements 
of  gardeners,  who  can  be  seen  at  Thorburn's, 
in  John  street,  on  stated  mornings,  when  they  hold 
their  levee,  who  insist  upon  '  entire  control.'  A 
modest  man,  going  among  them,  and  entreating  the 
services  of  one  at  forty  dollars  a  month,  and  '  boord,' 
feels  very  much  as  if  he  were  hiring  himself  to  him 
in  some  subordinate  capacity, — with  the  privilege  of 
occasionally  sniffing  the  perfume  through  the  open 
doors  of  the  green-house.  There  may  be  those 
country-lovers  who  enjoy  this  state  of  dependence 
upon  the  superior  authority  of  a  gardener ;  but  I  do 
not  care  to  be  counted  among  them.  I  have  too  large 

an  acquaintance   among    the   sufferers.      M ,  an 

amiable  gentleman,  and  a  friend  of  mine,  and  an  ex 
treme  lover  of  flowers,  dared  no  more  to  pick  a  rose 
without  permission  of  c  Wallace,'  than  he  dares  to 
be  caught  reading  an  unpopular  journal.  '  Wallace  ' 
is  instructed ;  but  in  the  assertion  of  his  authority, 
— impudent.  And  when  at  last  my  friend  summoned 
resolution  to  dismiss  him,  there  came  a  dray  to  the 
back-entrance,  which  was  presently  loaded  down 
with  the  private  cuttings  and  perquisites  of  the  ac 
complished  gardener. 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  247 

When  a  gardener  knows  so  much  as  to  refuse  any 
suggestions,  and  to  disallow  any  right  on  the  part  of 
the  proprietor  to  stamp  his  place  with  his  own  indi 
viduality  of  taste, — he  knows  altogether  too  much. 
This  is  the  Scotch  phase  of  knowing  too  much ;  but 
there  is  an  American  one  that  is  even  worse,  and 
which  puts  a  raw  edge  upon  country  socialities. 

I  find  no  man  so  disagreeable  to  meet  with,  as 
one  who  knows  everything.  Of  course  we  expect  it 
in  newspaper  editors,  and  allow  for  it.  But,  to  meet 
a  man  engaged  in  innocent  occupations — over  your 
fence,  who  is  armed  cap-a-pie  against  all  new  ideas, — 
who  'knew  it  afore,'  or  'has  heerd  so,'  or  doubts 
it,  or  replies  to  your  most  truthful  sally  '  t'ain't  so, 
nuther,'  is  aggravating  in  the  extreme. 

There  is  many  a  small  farmer,  scattered  up  and 
down  in  New  England,  whose  chief  difficulty  is— 
that  he  knows  too  much.  I  do  not  think  a  single 
charge  against  him  could  cover  more  ground,  or 
cover  it  better.  It  is  hard  to  make  intelligible  to  a 
third  party,  his  apparent  inaccessibility  to  new  ideas, 
his  satisfied  quietude,  his  invincible  inertium,  his 
stolid,  and  yet  shrewd  capacity  to  resist  novelties, 
his  self-assurance,  his  scrutinizing  contempt  for  out- 
sidedness  of  whatever  sort— his  supreme  and  ineradi 
cable  faith  in  his  own  peculiar  doctrine,  whether  of 
politics,  religion,  ethnology,  ham-curing,  manuring 
or  farming  generally. 


248  MY  FARM. 

It  is  not  aloue  that  men  of  this  class  Deling  by  a 
particular  method  of  culture,  because  their  neighbor 
hood  lias  followed  the  same  for  years,  and  the  results 
are  fair ;  but  it  is  their  pure  contempt  for  being 
taught;  their  undervaluation  of  what  they  do  not 
know,  as  not  worth  knowing ;  their  conviction  that 
their  schooling,  their  faith,  their  principles,  and  their 
understanding  are  among  God's  best  works ;  and 
that  other  peoples'  schooling,  faith,  principles,  and 
views  of  truth — whether  human  or  Divine — are  in 
ferior  and  unimportant. 

Yet  withal,  there  is  a  shrewdness  about  them 
which  forces  upon  you  the  conviction  that  they  do 
not  so  much  dislike  to  be  taught,  as  dislike  to  seem 
to  be  taught.  They  like  to  impress  you  with  the 
notion  that  what  you  may  tell  them  is  only  a  new 
statement  of  what  they  know  already.  It  is  incon 
ceivable  that  anything  really  worth  knowing  has  not 
come  within  the  range  of  their  opportunities  ;  or  if 
not  theirs,  then  of  their  accredited  teachers,  the  town 
school-master,  the  parson,  the  doctor,  or  the  news 
paper.  In  short,  all  that  they  do  not  know  which 
may  be  worth  knowing,  is  known  in  their  town,  and 
they  are  in  some  sort  partners  to  it. 

Talk  to  a  small  farmer  of  this  class  about  Mechi, 
or  Lawes,  or  the  new  theory  of  Liebig,  and  he  gives 
a  complacent,  inexorable  grin — >as  much  as  to  say— 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  249 

"  Can't   come   that   staff  over   me ;   I'm  too   old   a 
bird." 

So  indeed  he  is  ;  and  a  tough  bird  at  that.  His 
mind  is  a  rare  psychological  study ;  so  balanced  on 
so  fine  a  point,  so  immovable, — with  such  guys  of  pre 
judice  staying  him  on  every  side, — so  subtle  and  yet 
so  narrow, — so  shrewd  and  yet  so  small, — so  intelli 
gent  and  yet  so  short-sighted  If  such  men  could 
bring  themselves  to  think  they  knew  less,  I  think 
they  would  farm  far  better. 

Opportunity  for  Culture. 

THERE  is  a  plentiful  crop  of  orators  for  all  the 
agricultural  fairs  (most  of  them  city  lawyers, 
not  knowing  a  Devon  from  a  Hereford),  who  delight 
in  expatiating  upon  the  opportunities  for  culture 
afforded  by  the  quiet  and  serenity  of  a  farm-life. 
Now  there  is  no  life  in  the  world,  which,  well  hus 
banded,  has  not  its  opportunities  for  culture  ;  but  to 
say  that  the  working-farmer's  life  is  specially  favored 
in  this  respect,  is  the  grossest  kind  of  an  untruth. 

Long  evenings,   forsooth !      And  the   orator 

who  talks  in  this  style  is  probably  crawling  out  of  his 
bed  at  eight  in  the  morning,  while  the  farmer  ia 
a-field  since  four.  And  are  not  these  four  hours  to 
be  made  good  to  him  in  sleep  or  rest?  The  man 
11* 


250  MY  FARM. 

who  rises  at  four,  and  works  all  day,  as  farmers 
work,  or  who  is  even  a-field  all  day,  is  sleepy  at  nine 
P.  M.  It  is  not,  perhaps,  a  graceful  truth  ;  but  it  is 
a  physiological  one.  Nothing  provokes  appetite  for 
sleep  so  much,  as  out-of-door  life.  You  may  over 
strain  the  nervous  system,  and  dodge  the  night ;  but 
a  strain  upon  the  muscular  system  must  have  its 
balance  of  repose.  There  are,  indeed,  exceptional 
cases,  where  a  working  man  with  an  undue  prepon 
derance  of  brain,  will  steal  hours  between  his  labor 
for  intellectual  cultivation ;  but  he  does  it  under 
difficulties,  which  he  is  the  first  to  recognize  and  de 
plore.  Even  the  most  skilled  of  working  farmers 
arrive  at  their  conclusions  by  an  intuitive  sagacity, 
which  is  wholly  remote  from  the  logical  processes 
of  books  ;  and  their  straight-forward  common-sense, 
however  correct  in  its  judgments,  grows  into  a  dis 
taste  for  the  subtle  arts  of  rhetoric. 

During  the  more  leisure  period  of  winter,  the 
practical  mind  of  the  farmer  will  gravitate  more 
easily  toward  mechanical  employments,  than  toward 
those  which  are  intellectual.  He  will  have  his 
Agricultural-journal  and  others,  may  be,  to  whose 
reading  he  will  bring  a  ripe  and  hardy  judgment. 
But  his  thoughts  will  be  more  among  his  cattle  and 
his  bins,  than  among  books.  "  He  cannot  get  wis 
dom  thatglorieth  in  the  goad,  and  that  driveth  oxen." 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  251 

There  may  be  a  spice  of  exaggeration  in  the  dogma 
of  Ecclesiasticus ;  but  whoever  undertakes  the  pro 
fession  of  working- farmer,  must  accept  its  fatigues 
and  engrossments,  and  honor  them  as  he  can.  It 
is  a  business  that  will  not  be  halved.  Vulcan  can 
make  no  Ganymede— strain  as  he  will.  The  horny 
hands,  the  tired  body,  the  hay-dust  and  the  "scent  of 
the  stables  are  inevitable.  The  fine  young  fellow, 
flush  with  Johnston's  Elements,  and  buoyant  with 
Thomson's  Seasons,  may  rebel  at  this  view  of  the 
case ;  but  let  him  take  three  hours  in  a  hay-field  of 
August— behind  a  revolver  (rake),  with  the  reins 
over  his  neck,  the  land  being  lumpy,  and  the  colt 
dipping  a  foot  over  the  traces  at  the  end  of  every 
bout,  and  I  think  he  will  have  sweaty  confirmation 
of  its  general  truth.  Or  let  him  try  a  day  at  the  tail 
of  a  Michigan-plough,  in  a  wiry  and  dusty  last-year's 
stubble: — the  horses  are  fresh  and  well  trained,  and 
the  plough  enters  bravely  to  its  work— smoothly  at 
first,  but  presently  an  ugly  stone  flings  it  cleanly  from 
the  farrow,  and  there  is  a  backing, — a  heavy  tug,  and 
on  he  goes  with  his  mind  all  centred  in  the  plough- 
beam,  and  nervously  watching  its  little  pitches  and 
yaws  ;  he  lifts  a  hand  cautiously  to  wipe  the  perspi 
ration  from  his  forehe :id  (a  great  imprudence),  and  the 
plough  sheers  over  gracefully,  and  is  out  once  more. 
There  is  a  new  bucking  and  straining,  and  the  plough 


252  MY  FARM 

is  again  in  place ;  no  more  wiping  of  the  forehead 
until  the  headlands  are  reached.  Watery  blisters  are 
rising  fast  on  his  hands,  and  a  pebble  in  his  shoe  is 
pressing  fearfully  on  a  bunion  ;  but  at  the  headland 
he  finds  temporary  relief,  and  a  small  can  of  weak 
barley-water.  Refreshed  by  this,  but  somewhat 
shaky  in  the  legs,  he  pushes  on  with  zeal — possibly 
thinking  of  Burns,  and  how  he  walked  in  glory  and 

fr  joy, 

"  Behind  his  plough, 
Upon  the  mountain  side," 

— and  wondering  if  he  really  did?  There  are  no 
4  wee-tipped  '  daisies  to  beguile  him  ;  not  a  mouse  is 
stirring  ;  only  a  pestilent  mosquito  is  twanging  some 
where  behind  his  left  ear,  and  a  fine  aromatic  powder 
rises  from  the  dusty  stubble  and  tickles  his  nostrils. 
So  he  comes  to  the  headland  once  more  and  the  can ; 
if  he  had  a  copy  of  Burns  in  his  pocket,  it  might  be 
pleasant  for  the  fine  young  fellow  to  lie  off  under  the 
shade  for  a  while,  and  '  improve  his  mind.'  But  he 
has  no  Burns — in  fact,  no  pocket  in  his  overalls  ;  be 
sides  which,  the  season  is  getting  late  ;  he  must  finish 
his  acre  of  ploughing.  Over  and  over  he  eyes  the  sun 
• — it  is  very  slow  of  getting  to  its  height,  and  wheu 
noon  conies  it  finds  him  in  a  very  draggled  and  wilty 
state  ;  but  he  mounts  one  of  the  horses,  and  the  mate 
clattering  after,  he  leads  off  to  the  barn  and  the  bait 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  253 

ing.  He  has  a  sharp  appetite  for  the  beef  and  the 
greens,  but  not  much,  at  the  nooning,  for  Bums  or 
Bishop  Butler.  The  return  to  the  field  haunts  him ; 
but  the  work  is  only  half  done.  Rubbing  his  puffy 
hands  with  a  raw  onion  (by  the  advice  of  Pat),  he 
enters  bravely  upon  a  new  bout  of  the  ploughing. 
The  sun  is  even  more  searching  than  in  the  morning ; 
the  mosquitoes  have  come  in  flocks ;  the  bunion,  ag 
gravated  by  the  morning's  pebble,  angers  him  sorely, 
and  destroys  all  his  confidence  in  the  commentators 
upon  Burns. 

At  night,  more  draggled  and  wilted  than  at 
noon,  he  turns  out  his  team,  and  if  he  means  system 
atic  farm-work,  will  give  the  horses  a  thorough  rub 
bing-down  ;  afterward,  if  he  cherish  cleanly  preju 
dices, — the  fine  young  fellow  will  have  need  for  a 
rubbing-down  of  himself.  This  refreshes,  and  gives 
courage  for  the  milking — which,  with  those  puffy 
fingers,  is  no  way  amusing.  Again  the  appetite  is  good 
— even  for  a  cut  of  salt-beef,  and  dish  of  cold  greens. 
Thereupon  Pat,  the  Irish  lad,  sits  upon  the  doorstep 
and  ruminates, — with  a  short,  black  pipe  in  his  mouth. 
Our  draggled  young  friend  aims  at  something  better ; 
it  is  wearily  done  ;  but  at  least  the  show  shall  be 
made.  The  candle  is  lighted,  and  a  book  pulled  down 
— possibly  Prof.  Johnson  on  Peats  ;  the  millers  dart 
into  the  flame ;  peats,  and  hydrates,  and  oxides,  and 


254  MY  FARM. 

peats  again,  mix  strangely ;  a  horned  beetle  dashes 
at  his  forehead,  and  makes  him  wakefiil  for  a  mo 
ment  ;  there  is  a  frog  droning  in  the  near  pond  very 
drowsily — 'peats — peats— peats  ;'  the  drift  of  the 
professor  is  lost ;  Pat  ruminates  on  the  step ;  a  big 
miller  flaps  out  the  flame  of  his  candle  ; — it  is  no  mat 
ter — our  fine  young  fellow  is  in  a  sound  snooze. 

So  much  for  the  working  farmer  ;  and  we  cannot 
have  armies  Avithout  privates  ;  and  privates  are  many 
of  them  '  fine  young  fellows.' 

Isolation  of  Farmers. 

I  AM  reminded  that  a  farmer  has  no  need  to  fag 
himself  with  hard  field  work.  To  a  certain 
extent  this  is  true  ;  but  only  "  A  master's  eye  fattens 
the  horse,  and  only  a  master's  foot  the  ground." 

If  farming  be  undertaken  as  an  amusement,  ab 
sence  is  possible  ;  indeed,  the  longer  the  absence,  the 
greater  the  amusement — to  the  onlookers ;  but  if 
farming  be  undertaken  as  a  business,  presence  is  im 
perative — presence,  with  its  associations,  and  its  com 
parative  isolation. 

Of  the  more  familiar  associations,  a  type  may  be 
had  in  Pat,  sitting  on  the  doorstep  at  dusk,  ruminat 
ing  and  smoking  a  black-stemmed  pipe.  The  isola 
tion  is  less  obvious,  but  more  galling.  Farms  do  not 


HINDRANCES  AND   HELPS.  255 

lie  extensively  in  cities  ;  and  the  least  fear  we  live 
under, — is  one  of  mobs.  In  fact,  there  is  not  even  a 
habit  of  congregation  in  farmers.  They  meet  behind 
the  church,  between  services, — in  a  starched  way ; 
they  drive  to  town-meetings  in  their  best  toggery,  and 
discuss  ballotings  and  the  weather — possibly  linger  an 
hour  or  two  about  the  tavern  or  a  pet  grocer's ;  but 
they  do  not  meet  as  townspeople  meet — on  the  walk, 
over  counters,  on  the  railway,  in  the  omnibus,  and  in 
each  other's  houses.  I  have  already  taken  occasion  to 
dust  out  their  darkened  parlors ;  but  the  dust  will 
gather  again.  They  have  no  Market-Fairs*  which  will 
bring  them  together  with  samples  of  their  crops,  to 
compare  notes,  and  prices,  and  methods  of  culture. 

There  is  no  coherence  of  the  farmers  as  a  body — 
no  trade-guild — no  banding  of  endeavor  to  work  a 
common  triumph,  or  to  ferret  out  a  common  abuse. 
For  years,  in  many  parts  of  New  England,  the  sheep 
culture  has  been  entirely  ruined  by  the  ravages  of 
lawless  town-dogs  ;  and  the  farmers  groan  over  it, 
and  bury  the  dead  sheep,  and  whisper  valorously  be 
tween  church  services  about  bludgeons  and  buck- 

*  A  strong  effort,  I  am  glad  to  see,  is  making  to  establish  them 
in  various  parts  of  the  country.  In  my  own  neighborhood  the  old 
town  of  Cheshire  has  made  a  bold  stride  in  this  direction,  and  I 
trust  not  iu  vain.  They  are  worth  more  to  the  true  interests  of 
farming  than  all  the  horse-trotting  fairs  which  could  be  packed  inta 
A  season. 


256  MY  FARM. 

shot,  but  never  make  a  concerted  urgent  protest ;  oi 
if  they  rally  so  far  as  to  send  one  of  their  own  people 
to  the  Legislature, — he,  poor  fellow,  does  not  pass  ten 
days  under  the  fingers  of  the  lobbyists,  but  he  sinks 
into  the  veriest  dribblet  of  a  politician  ;  and  gives 
the  last  proof  of  it,  by  making  a  pompous  speech 
on  '  Federal  Relations,' — not  worth  the  carcass  of  a 
ewe  lamb. 

Under  these  conditions,  any  new  and  valuable 
methods  of  farm-practice  do  not  spread  with  any 
rapidity  ;  they  hobble  lamely  over  innumerable  flank 
ing  walls.  It  is  possible  they  may  get  an  airing  in 
the  Agricultural  journals  ;  but  good  and  serviceable 
as  these  journals  are,  their  statements  do  not  influ 
ence,  like  personal  communications.  Reforms  want 
the  ring  of  spoken  words,  and  some  electric  social 
chain  traversing  a  whole  district,  and  flashing  with 
neighborly  talk. 

The  man  of  education,  giving  himself  over  to  the 
retirement  of  a  farm-life,  will  find  this  isolation,  soon 
er  or  later,  grating  sorely.  Whatever  love  of  the  pur 
suit — its  cares,  indulgences,  attractions,  successes — 
may  engross  him,  a  certain  attrition  with  the  world  is 
as  necessary  to  his  mental  health,  and  briskness  of 
thought — as  a  rubbing-post  for  his  piga.  He  may  let 
himself  off  in  newspapers,  or  he  may  thumb  his  library 
and  the  journals,  but  these  offer  but  dead  contact,  and 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  257 

possess  none  of  that  kindling  magnetism  which  comes 
from  personal  intercourse.  Type  grows  wearisome 
at  last,  however  stocked  with  information  and 
gorgeous  fancies ;  and  a  man  frets  for  the  lively  re 
bound  of  discussion. 

Friends  from  the  city  may  drop  upon  you  from 
time  to  time,  exercising  this  compassion  for  your  re 
tirement ;  and  they  treat  you  compassionately.  Of 
course  the  novelty  of  the  scene  and  the  life  has  charms 
for  any  metropolitan,  whatever  his  tastes  ;  and  he 
bears  himself  very  briskly  at  the  first.  The  view  is 
charming ;  the  well-water  is  charming ;  the  big  oaks 
(they  are  all  maples)  are  charming.  And  his  eye 
falls  upon  a  riotous  hedge  of  Osage-orange,  "  Dear 
me,  that's  the  hawthorn  ;  how  beautiful  it  is  !  " 

Of  course  you  do  not  correct  him ;  in  fact,  you 
partake  of  his  exhilaration,  and  seem  to  see  things 
with  new  eyes. 

"  And,  bless  me,  here's  your  boy  (its  a  girl) ;  how 
old  is  he  ?  "  (patting  her  head). 

What  a  fine  flow  of  spirits  he  is  in,  to  be  sure  ! 
irou  show  him  up  and  down  your  grounds  (always 
4  your  grounds,'  he  calls  them,  if  it  be  only  a  potato 
garden). 

Presently  his  eye  lights  upon  a  blooming  Weigelia. 
lt  Ah,  a  dwarf  apple  !  and  do  you  go  largely  into 
fruit  ?  "  upon  which  you  offer  him  a  Red-Astrachan 


258  MY  FARM. 

and  remark  that  the  Weigelia  has  not  borne  thus  far 
it  is  a  Chinese  shrub,  and  little  understood  as  yet. 

"  Is  it  possible — Chinese  !  so  far  ; — it  seems  to 
thrive."  And  it  does. 

And  you  stroll  with  him  upon  the  hill ;  though 
you  cannot  but  see  that  his  mind  is  warping  back  to 
4  laryngal  affections,'  or  '  half-of-one-per-cent.  off.' 

A  lucky  interruption  appears,  in  the  shape  of  a 
fine  Devon  cow.  You  venture  to  call  his  attention  to 
her,  and  ask  if  she  is  not  a  fine  animal  ? 

"  Admirable  !  "  and  with  a  kind  interest,  he  asks 
— if  she  isn't  a  short-horn  ? 

"  Not  a  Short-horn,"  you  reply ;  and  in  way  of 
apology  for  his  error,  remark  that  she  has  broken  off 
one  of  her  horns  in  the  fence. 

At  which  he  says, — "  Ah,  I  see  now ; — but  re 
sembles  the  Short-horns,  doesn't  she  ?  " 

"  Yes — "  you  return,  mildly — "  a  little  ;  her  legs 
are  like  ;  and  I  think  she  carries  her  tail — a  good  deal 
in  the  Short-horn  way." 

At  which  he  is  himself  again,  and  is  prepared  for 
a  new  farm  venture.  It  comes  presently,  as  a  fine 
brood  of  Bremen  geese  waddle  into  sight. 

"  Muscovies  ?  " 

"  No,  not  ducks — geese — Bremen  geese,  but  re 
semble  the  Muscovies  ;  "  (as  unlike  as  they  are  to  sea- 
fowl  ;  but  shall  not  2.  host  keep  his  guest  in  good 
humor  ?) 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  059 

"  I  shouldn't  have  known  'em  from  Muscovies," 
he  says.  And  I  really  don't  suppose  that  he  would. 

A  good-natured  city-guest,  who  comes  to  see  you 
in  your  retirement,  is  very  apt  to  talk  in  this  strain 
upon  farming  matters.  It  is  engaging,  but  not  im 
proving. 

You  stroll,  by  and  by,  into  the  library ;  and 
leave  him  for  a  few  moments  lounging  in  the  arm 
chair,  while  you  slip  out  to  give  some  orders  to  the 
ditchers  in  the  meadow. 

Upon  your  return,  entering  somewhat  brusquely 
(expecting  to  tind  him  deep  in  some  book),  you 
waken  him  out  of  a  sound  sleep. 

"  Upon  my  word,"  he  says,  "  this  is  a  beautiful 
air  ;  if  I  lived  here  I  should  sleep  half  my  time." 

The  reflection  is  a  somewhat  dismal  one, — though 
well  meant. 

All  this,  however,  illustrates  what  I  want  to  say 
— that  the  citizen  engrossed  in  active  professional  or 
business  pursuits,  when  he  visits  a  farm  friend,  goes 
with  the  very  sensible  purpose  and  hope — of  escaping 
for  a  while  the  interminable  mental  strain  of  the  city, 
and  of  giving  himself  up  to  full  relaxation.  And  this 
fact  makes  the  isolation  of  which  I  have  spoken,  more 
apparent  than  ever. 

And  it  is  an  isolation  that  cannot  altogether  be 
left  behind  one.  On  your  visits  to  the  city,  friends 


260  MY  FARM. 

will  remark  your  seediness,  not  unkindly,  but  with  an 
oblique  eye-cast  up  and  down  your  figure—  -as  a  jockey 
measures  a  stiff-limbed  horse — long  out  to  pasture. 
You  may  wear  what  toggery  you  will — keeping  by 
the  old  tailors,  and  showing  yourself  lien  gante,  and 
carefully  read  up  to  the  latest  dates  ;  still  you  shall 
betray  yourself  in  some  old  dinner-joke — dead  long 
ago.  And  the  friends  will  say  kindly,  after  you  are 
gone,  "  How  confoundedly  seedy  Rus.  has  grown  !  " 

Were  this  all,  it  were  little.  But  the  clash  and 
alarum  of  cities  have  stirred  things  to  their  marrow, 
which  you  know  only  outsidedly.  The  great  nervous 
sensorium  of  a  continent, — with  its  wiry  nerves  raying 
like  a  spider's  web,  in  all  directions, — is  packed  with 
subtle  and  various  meanings,  which  you,  living  on  an 
outer  strand  of  the  web,  can  neither  understand  nor 
interpret.  Mere  accidental  contact  will  not  estab 
lish  affinity.  In  a  dozen  quarters  a  boy  puts  you 
right ;  and  some  girl  tells  you  newnesses  you  never 
suspected.  The  rust  is  on  your  sword ;  thwack  as  hard 
as  you  may,  you  cannot  flesh  it,  as  when  it  had  every 
day  scouring  into  brightness. 

Dickering.  • 

OMETIME  or  other,  if  a  man  enter  upon  farm 
life — and  it  holds  true  in  almost  every  kind  of 
life — there  will  come  to  him  a  necessity  for  bargain- 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  261 

ing.  It  is  a  part  of  the  curse,  I  think,  entailed  upon 
mankind,  at  the  expulsion  from  Eden, — that  they 
should  sweat  at  a  bargain.  When  a  Frenchwoman 
with  her  hand  full  of  gloves, — behind  her  dainty  coun 
ter, — asks  the  double  of  what  her  goods  are  worth, 
you  are  noway  surprised.  You  accept  the  enormity, 
as  a  symptom  of  the  depravity  of  her  race, — which  is 
balanced  by  the  suavity  of  her  manner. 

But  when  a  hard-faced,  upright,  sabbath-keeping 
New-England  bank-officer  or  select-man,  asks  you 
the  double,  or  offers  you  the  half,  of  what  a  thing  is 
really  worth,  there  is  a  revulsion  of  feeling,  which  no 
charm  in  his  manner  can  drive  away.  Unlike  the 
case  of  the  French  shop-woman,  I  feel  like  passing 
him — on  the  other  side  of  the  street. 

And  yet  all  this  is  to  be  met  (and  conquered,  I 
suppose)  by  whoever  has  butter,  or  eggs,  or  hay,  or 
fat-cattle  to  sell.  I  ventured  once  to  express  my 
surprise  to  a  shrewd  foreman  who  had  charge  of  this 
business — for  I  manage  it  by  proxy  as  much  as  I  can 
— that  i  staid  gentleman  with  his  ten  thousand  a 
year  of  income,  should  have  insisted  upon  a  deduc 
tion  of  two  cents  a  bushel  in  the  price  of  his  pota 
toes,  in  view  of  a  quart  of  small  ones,  that  had  insin 
uated  themselves  in  the  interstices :  I  think  I  hear 
his  horse-laugh  now,  as  he  replied — "  Why,  sir,  it's 
the  way  he  grew  rich." 


262  MY  FARM. 

The  idea  struck  me  as  novel ;  but  upon  reflection 
I  am  inclined  to  think  it  was  well  based.  As  I  said, 
— often  as  possible,  I  accomplish  this  business  by 
proxy;  and,  in  consequence,  have  made  seme  bad 
debts  by  proxy.  But  proxy  is  not  always  available. 
There  are  customers  who  insist  upon  chaffering  with 
the  '  boss.'  Such  an  one  has  dropped  in,  on  a  morn 
ing  in  which  you  happen  to  be  deeply  engaged.  He 
wishes  to  'take  a  look'  at  a  horse,  which  he  has 
seen  advertised  for  sale.  The  stable  is  free  to  his 
observation,  and  the  attentive  Pat  is  at  hand;  but 
the  customer  wants  a  talk  with  the  '  Squire.' 

It  is  a  staunch  Canadian  horse,  for  which  you 
have  no  further  use.  You  paid  for  him,  six  months 
gone,  a  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  and  you  now  name 
a  hundred  dollars  as  his  price.  I  never  yet  met  a 
man  who  sold  a  horse  for  as  much  as  he  gave — unless 
he  were  a  jockey  ;  I  never  expect  to. 

"  Mornin',  Squire." 

"  Good  morning." 

O 

"  Bin  a  lookin'  at  y'er  hoss." 
"  Ah !  " 

"  Middlin'  lump  of  a  hoss." 
"  Yes,  a  nice  horse." 

"  D'n  know  as  you  know  it,  but  sich  bosses  an1! 
BO  salable  as  they  was  a  spell  back." 
"  Ah !  " 


HINDRANCES  AND   HELPS.  263 

"  They're  gittin'  a  fancy  for  bigger  bosses." 

Silence. 

"  Put  that  pony  to  a  heavy  cart,  and  he  wouldn't 
do  nothin'." 

"  You  are  mistaken  ;  he's  a  capital  cart-horse." 

"  Well,  I  don't  say  but  what  he'd  be  handy  with 
a  lightish  load.  Don't  call  him  spavined,  do  ye  ?  " 

"  No,  perfectly  sound." 

"  That  looks  kinder  like  a  spavin  " — rubbing  his 
off  hind  leg. 

"  An't  much  of  a  hoss  doctor,  be  ye  ?  " 

"  Not  much." 

"  Don't  kick,  dooz  he  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Them  little  Kanucks  is  apt  to  kick." 

Silence,  and  an  impatient  movement,  which  I 
work  off  by  pulling  out  my  watch. 

"  What  time  o'  day  's  got  to  be  ?  " 

"  Eleven." 

"  Thunder  !  I  must  be  a  goin' ; — should  like  to 
trade,  Squire,  but  I  guess  we  can't  agree.  I  s'pose 
you'd  be  askin'  as  much  as — sixty — or — seventy  dol 
lars  for  that  are  hoss — wouldn't  ye  ?  " 

"  A  hundred  dollars  is  the  price,  and  I  gave  fifty 
more." 

"  Don't  say  !  Gave  a  thundering  sight  too  much. 
Squire." 


264  MY  FARM. 

"  Pat,  you  may  put  up  the  horse  ;  I  don't  think 
the  gentleman  wants  him." 

"  Look  o'  here,  Squire  ; — ef  you  was  to  say — 
something — like — seventy,  or — seventy-five  dollars, 
now, — there  might  be  some  use  in  talkin'." 

"  Not  one  bit  of  use,"  (impatiently) — turning  on 
my  heel. 

" Say,  Squire, — ever  had  him  to  a  plough  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Work  well  ?  " 

"  Perfectly  well." 

"  Fractious  any  ?  Them  Kanucks  is  contrary  crit 
ters  when  they've  a  mind  to  be." 

"  He  is  quite  gentle." 

"  That's  a  good  p'int ;  but  them  that's  worked  til] 
they  git  quiet,  kinder  gits  the  spirit  lost  out  on  'em 
— an't  so  brisk  when  you  put  'em  to  a  waggin. 
Don't  you  find  it  so,  Squire  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all." 

"  How  old,  Squire,  did  ye  say  he  was  ?  "  (looking 
in  his  mouth  again). 

"  Seven." 

"  Well — I  guess  he  is  ;  a  good  many  figgers  nigh- 
er  that,  than  he  is  to  tew — any  way." 

"  Patrick,  you  had  better  put  this  horse  up." 

"  Hold  on,  Squire,"  and  taking  out  his  purse,  he 
counts  out — "  seventy — eighty, — and  a  five, — and  two, 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  265 

— and  a  fifty — there,  Squire,  'tant  worth  talkin'  about ; 
I'll  split  the  difference  with  ye,  and  take  the  hoss." 

"  Patrick,  put  him  up." 

At  which  the  customer  is  puzzled,  hesitates,  and 
the  horse  is  entering  the  stable  again,  when  he  breaks 
out  explosively — 

" Well,  Squire,  here's  your  money ;  but 

you're  the  most  thunderin'  oneasy  man  for  a  dicker 
that  I  ever  traded  with — I'll  say  that  for  ye." 

And  the  horse  is  transferred  to  his  keeping. 

"  S'pose  you  throw  in  the  halter  and  blanket, 
Squire,  don't  ye  ?  " 

"  Give  him  the  halter  and  blanket,  Patrick." 

"  And,  Patrick,  you  'ant  nary  old  curry-comb  you 
don't  use,  you  could  let  me  have  ?  " 

"  Give  him  a  curry-comb,  Pat." 

"  Squire,  you're  a  clever  man.  Got  most  through 
y'r  hayin'  ?  " 

"  Nearly." 

"Well,  I'm  glad  on't.  Had  kinder  ketchin' 
weather  up  our  way." 

And  with  this  return  to  general  and  polite  con 
versation,  the  bargaining  is  over.  It  may  be  amus 
ing,  but  it  is  not  inspiriting  or  elevating.  Yet  very 
much  of  the  country-trade  is  full  of  this  miserable 
chaffering.  If  I  have  a  few  acres  of  woodland  to 
Bell,  the  purchaser  spends  an  hour  in  impressing  upon 
12 


266  MY  FARM. 

me  his  *  idee ' — that  it  is  scattered  and  mangy,  and 
ha&  been  pirated  upon,  and  that  wood  is  '  dull,'  with 
no  prospect  of  its  rising  ;  if  it  is  a  cow  that  I  venture 
in  the  market,  the  proposed  purchaser  is  equally  volu 
ble  in  descriptive  epithets,  far  from  complimentary ; 
she  is  « pooty  well  on  in  years,'  rather  scrawny,  « not 
much  for  a  bag,'— and  this,  although  she  may  be  the 
identical  Devon  of  my  Short-horn  friend.  If  it  is  a 
pig  that  I  would  convert  into  greenbacks — he  is 
'flabby,'  'scruffy,' — his  'pork  will  waste  in  bilinV 
In  short  if  I  were  to  take  the  opinions  of  my  excel 
lent  friends  the  purchasers— for  truth,  I  should  be 
painfully  conscious  of  having  possessed  the  most 
mangy  hogs,  the  most  aged  cows,  the  scrubbiest 
veal,  and  the  most  diseased  and  stunted  growth  of 
chestnuts  and  oaks,  with  which  a  country-liver  was 
ever  afflicted. 

For  a  time,  in  the  early  period  of  my  novitiate,  I 
was  not  a  little  disturbed  by  these  damaging  state 
ments  ;  but  have  been  relieved  on  learning,  by  farther 
experience,  that  the  urgence  of  such  lively  falsehoods 
is  only  an  ingenious  mercenary  device  for  the  sharp 
ening  of  a  bargain.  But  while  this  knowledge  puts 
me  in  good  temper  again  with  my  own  possessions,  it 
sadly  weakens  my  respect  for  humanity. 

Amateur  farmers  are  fine  subjects  for  these  chaf 
ferers ;  they  yield  to  them  without  serious  struggle 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  267 

The  extent  and  the  manner  of  their  losses,  under  the 
engineering  abilities  of  those  wiry  old  gentlemen  who 
drive-  sharp  bargains,  is  something  quite  beyond  their 
comprehension.  It  would  be  well  if  harm  stopped 
here.  But  this  huckstering  spirit  is  very  leprous  to  char 
acter.  It  bestializes  ; — it  breaks  down  the  trader's 
own  respect  for  himself,  as  much  as  ours.  The  man 
who  will  school  himself  into  the  adoption  of  all  man 
ner  of  disguisements  about  the  cow  he  has  to  sell, 
will  adopt  the  same  artifices  and  quibbles  about  the 
opinions  he  wishes  to  force  upon  your  acceptance. 
Let  him  mend  by  showing  all  the  spavins  in  the  next 
horse  he  has  for  sale  (there  will  be  some,  or  he  would 
never'  sell)  ;  and  his  reformation  is  not  altogether 
hopeless. 

The  Bright  Side. 

TEIUS  far  I  have  been  dealing  with  the  shadows — 
heavily  laid  on  ;  let  me  now,  with  a  finer  brush, 
touch  in  the  lights  upon  my  picture.  The  chemical 
puzzles,  the  disappointments,  the  isolation,  the  fa 
tigues,  the  chaffering  bargainers  do  not  fully  describe 
or  give  limit  to  the  good  old  profession  of  fanning. 
And  even  when  these  clouds — hindrances  I  call  them 
—most  accumulate,  the  kindly  sun  flashes  through, 
warming  all  the  fields  below  me  into  golden  green, 
and  a  kindly  air  stirs  all  the  poplars  into  silver 


208  MY  FARM. 

plumes,  and  I  am  beguiled  into  a  new  and  a  more 
admiring  estimate  of  the  country  life. 

Arcadia  with  its  sylvan  glories  comes,  drifting  to 
my  vision,  and  the  pleasant  Elian  fields  sloping  to  the 
sea.  A  stately  Greek  gentleman — Xenophon — who 
has  won  great  renown  by  his  conduct  of  an  army 
among  the  fastnesses  of  Armenia,  and  on  the  borders 
of  the  Caspian,  has  retired  to  his  estates  on  the  Ionian 
wafers,  and  writes  there  a  book  of  maxims  for  farm 
management,  which  are  not  Avithout  their  significance 
and  value  to  every  farmer  to-day.  And  hitherward, 
across  the  blue  wash  of  the  Adriatic,  in  the  midst  of 
the  Sabine  country,  which  is  northward  and  eastward 
of  Rome,  I  know  a  Roman  farmer — Cato-r-who  has 
been  listened  to  with  rapt  attention  in  the  Roman 
Senate,  and  who — centuries  before  the  time  when 
Horace  was  amateur  agriculturist,  and  planted  So- 
racte  and  Lucretilis  in  his  poems — wrote  so  mi 
nutely,  and  with  such  rare  sagacity,  upon  all  that 
relates  to  country  living,  and  to  country  thrift,  that  I 
might  to-morrow,  in  virtue  of  his  instructions  only, 
plant  my  bed  of  asparagus,  and  so  dress  and  treat  it 
(always  in  pursuance  of  his  directions)  as  to  insure 
me  for  the  product  a  prize  at  the  County-Fair ; — if, 
indeed,  the  shoots  did  not  rival  those  famous  ones  of 
Ravenna — of  which  Pliny  speaks — weighing  three  to 
the  pound. 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  269 

I  know  a  poet  too,  whose  music  floating  over 
Italy,  before  yet  the  battle  blasts  of  her  direst  civil 
strife  were  done,  weaned  soldiers  from  their  blood 
scent  to  the  tranquil  offices  of  husbandry ;  and  that 
melody  of  the  Georgics  is  floating  still  under  all  the 
ceilings  of  all  the  school-houses  of  New  England. 
The  most  pretentious  and  the  most  ambitious  c  f  the 
later  emperors  of  the  East — Porphyrogenitus — has 
left  no  more  enduring  monument  of  his  reign,  than 
the  cornpend  of  agricultural  instructions,  compiled 
under  his  order,  and  bearing  title  of  "  Geoponica 
Geoponicorum." 

I  observe,  too,  in  my  card-basket,  the  address  of 
a  certain  Pietro  di  Crescenzi,  who  has  come  all  the 
way  from  the  fourteenth-century-Bologna  to  pay 
me  a  visit — in  a  tight  little  surtout  of  white  vellum 
that  smacks  of  the  loves  of  Bembo,  or  of  the  wicked 
ness  of  the  Borgia ;  and  who  has  talked  of  horses  and 
cattle,  and  wheat-growing,  and  vegetable-raising,  as 
familiarly  as  if  he  were  justice  of  the  peace  in  our 
town.  Lord  Bacon  has  contributed  to  our  stock  of 
information  about  garden  culture,  and  the  elegant 
pen  of  Lord  Kames  has  illustrated  the  whole  subject 
of  practical  husbandry.  But  I  do  not  cite  these 
names  for  the  sake  of  making  any  idle  boust  of 
the  antiquity  and  dignity  of  the  craft ;  we  have  too 
much  of  that,  I  think,  in  our  agricultural  addresses, 


270  MY  FARM. 

We  live  in  days  when  a  calling — whatever  it  may  l>e 
— cannot  find  establishment  of  its  value  or  worth,  in 
the  echoes — however  resonant  and  grateful — of  what 
lias  once  belonged  to  it,  or  of  the  dead  voices  that 
honored  it.  The  charms  of  Yirgil  and  the  shrewd 
observations  of  Cato  will  go  but  a  little  way  to  re 
commend  a  country  life  in  our  time,  except  that  li  fe 
have  charms  in  itself  to  pique  a  man's  poetic  sensibil 
ities — and  lessons  in  every  field  and  season,  to  tempt 
and  reward  his  closest  observation. 

Yet  it  is  very  remarkable  how  nearly  these  old 
authorities  have  approached  the  best  points  of  mod 
ern  practice  ;  and  again  and  again  we  are  startled  out 
of  our  vanities  by  the  soundness  of  their  suggestions 
Rotation  of  crops,  surface  drainage,  ridging  of  lands, 
composting  of  manures,  irrigation,  and  the  paring 
and  burning  of  stubble-lands  are  all  hinted,  if  not 
absolutely  advised,  in  treatises  written  ten  centuries 
ago.  Nor  have  I  a  doubt  but  that  a  shrewd  man 
acting  upon  the  best  advices  which  are  to  be  found 
in  the  various  books  of  the  Geoponica  (the  latest 
not  later  than  the  sixth  century),  and  with  no  other 
instructions  whatever — save  what  regards  the  dex 
terous  use  of  implements — would  manage  a  grain 
field,  a  meadow,  or  an  orchard,  better  than  the  half 
of  New  England  farmers. 

At  first  blush,  it  seems  very  discouraging  to  think 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  271 

that  we  have  put  no  wider  gap  between  ourselves 
and  those  twilight  times.  The  gap  is,  however,  fai  . 
wider  than  it  seems ;  for  while  those  old  gentlemen 
made  good  hits  in  their  practice,  they  rarely  an 
nounced  a  principle  on  which  good  cultivation  de 
pended,  but  they  were  egregiously  at  fault.  The 
centuries,  with  their  science  and  added  experience, 
have  solved  the  reasons  of  things ;  not  all  of  them, 
indeed — as  Liebig  in  his  last  book  needlessly  tells  us 
— but  enough  of  them  to  enlist  a  more  intelligent 
method  of  culture.  The  ancients  recommended  a 
rule  of  practice,  because  it  had  succeeded  in  a  score 
or  a  hundred  of  trials  ;  but  if  some  day  it  failed,  they 
must  have  groped  considerably  in  the  dark  for  a 
cause.  We  lay  down  a  rule  of  practice  in  obedience 
to  certain  clearly  determined  natural  laws ;  and  if 
failure  meets  us,  we  know  it  is  due — not  to  falsity  of 
the  laws — but  to  some  one  of  a  rather  wide  circle 
of  contingencies,  not  foreseen  or  provided  against. 
And  it  is  the  due  adjustment  and  measurement  of 
precisely  this  circle  of  contingencies — whether  be 
longing  to  weeds,  weather,  or  markets — which  most 
thoroughly  tests  the  sagacity  of  the  modern  farmer. 

This  sagacity  is  of  far  larger  service,  than  T  think 
scientific  farmers  are  willing  to  admit.  Over  and  over 
it  happens  that  some  uncouth,  raw,  strapping,  unread 
man  succeeds,  year  after  year,  in  making  crops  which 


272  MY  FARM. 

astonish  the  neighborhood.  You  know  he  has  no  sci 
ence, — nitrogen  is  Greek  to  him ;  sulphuric  acid,  for 
all  lie  can  tell,  might  lie  in  the  juice  of  an  apple ;  he 
knows  nothing  of  fermentations — nothing  of  physiol 
ogy,  yet  his  crops  are  monstrous.  His  tools  are  some 
thing  old,  though  firm  and  compact ;  his  team  is  al 
ways  in  good  order,  although  his  barns  may  be  some 
what  shaky. 

He  could  not  himself  explain  to  you  his  success ; 
you  perceive  that  he  manures  well,  that  he  ploughs 
thoroughly,  that  he  plants  good  seed,  that  he  hoes  hi 
season.  This  is  all ;  but  all  is  so  well  timed  by  a  native 
sagacity — by  an  instinctive  sense  (as  would  seem)  of 
the  wants  and  habits  of  the  crop,  growing  out  of 
close  observation — that  the  success  is  splendid.  A 
man  sets  up  beside  him,  and  buys  guano  and  fish,  and 
the  best  tools,  and  employs  a  chemist  to  analyze  his 
soil — but  his  crops  do  not  compare  with  those  of  his 
rude  neighbor,  who  sneers  at  chemistry  and  fine 
farming.  Of  course  I  do  not  mean  to  join  him  in  his 
sneers ;  I  only  mean  to  illustrate  how  a  large  saga 
city,  guided  by  its  own  instincts,  has  very  much  to 
do  with  good  farming  ;  and  in  a  way  not  clearly  ex 
plicable — certainly  not  explicable  by  its  possessor. 

Just  so,  you  will  sometimes  find,  far  back  in  the 
country,  a  shrewd  old  physician,  utterly  unread  in  the 
new  books,  who  laughs  at  the  Gazette  des  Hopilaux 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  273 

and  the  Chirurgical,  and  yet  who  has  that  rare  insight 
which  enables  him  to  detect  and  wrestle  with  disease 
strangely  well.  .  His  long  observation,  his  comparison 
of  trifles,  his  estimate  of  the  moral  forces  at  work  are 
so  just  and  discriminating,  that  he  brings  a  tremen 
dous  power  of  judgment  to  the  case.  Put  him  in  a 
room  for  consultation,  and  his  gray  eye  tweaks,  his 
lips  work  nervously  ;  he  cannot  enter  into  the  learned 
discourse  of  the  younger  men  of  the  profession  ;  he  is 
dazed  by  it  all — wishing  he  were  learned,  if  learn 
ing  helps  ;  but  when  appeal  is  made  to  him,  there  is 
such  clear,  sagacious,  homely  cut-down  into  the  very 
marrow  of  the  difficulty,  as  absolutely  confounds  the 
young  doctors  ;  all  this,  not  because  he  does  not  carry 
learning,  but  because  he  carries  brain — and  uses  it. 

Any  man  with  good  brains  may  succeed  in  farm 
ing — if  he  uses  them.  By  this,  I  mean  that  any  man 
with  a  clear  head — though  not  specially  crammed 
with  information — and  who  brings  a  cool,  sagacious, 
unblinking  outlook  to  the  offices  of  husbandry,  will 
succeed,  without  a  knowledge  of  the  principles  c.n 
which  its  more  important  operations  aro  based.  And 
the  practice  of  such  a  man,  if  faithfully  recorded  in 
all  its  details,  would  be  of  more  service  in  the  illus 
tration  of  scientific  laws,  than  the  halting  experience 
of  a  half  dozen  neophytes,  who  work  by  the  vague  out 
line  of  some  pet  theory.  I  had  rather  have  such  a  man 
1?* 


274  MY  FARM. 

for  tenant  f  than  one  fresh  from  the  schools,  bringing 
an  exaggerated  notion  of  salts,  and  a  large  contempt 
for  sagacity.  If  on  some  day  of  latter  summer  the 
milch  cows  rapidly  fall  away  in  their  '  yield,'  I  should 
expect  the  latter  to  puzzle  himself  about  the  sudden 
exhaustion  of  some  particular  constituent  of  the  milk 
food,  and  to  multiply  experiments  with  bran  or  bone 
meal  for  its  supply  ;  but  I  should  expect  the  sagacious 
veteran,  under  the  same  circumstances,  with  a  bold 
philosophy,  to  attribute  the  shortcoming  to  the 
scorching  suns  of  August,  that  have  drunk  up  all  the 
juices  of  the  grass  ;  and  I  should  expect  him  to  meet 
the  want  by  a  lush  and  succulent  patch  of  pasturage, 
which  his  foresight  has  kept  in  reserve. 

Business  Tact. 

AKIN"  to  this  sagacity  is  a  certain  business  tact, 
which  is  a  large  helper  to  whoever  would  suc 
cessfully  engage  in  agricultural  pursuits.  It  implies 
and  demands  adaptation  of  crops  to  soils,  exposure, 
and  the  market  wants.  It  is  eminently  opposed 
to  the  drowsiness  in  which  a  good  many  honest 
country-livers  are  apt  to  indulge.  It  reckons  time  at 
its  full  value  ;  it  does  not  lean  long  on  a  hoe-hand lo 
for  gossip. 

The  farmer  who  turns  his  capital  very  slowly,  and 
only  once  in  the  year,  is  not  apt  to  be  quickened  into 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  275 

business  ways  and  methods.  The  retired  trader,  who 
plants  himself  some  day  beside  him,  bringing  his  old 
prompt  habits  of  the  counter,  will  very  likely,  if  a 
shrewd  observer,  outmatch  him  in  a  corn  crop, — out 
match  him  in  pork, — outmatch  him  in  everything,  if 
the  year's  balance  were  struck  and  shown.  And  all 
this  in  spite  of  the  trader's  comparative  inexperience, 
and  by  reason  only  of  his  superior  business  tact. 

The  finest  shows  of  fruits  at  the  autumn  fairs — 
excepting  always  those  of  the  professed  nurserymen 
— are  made,  in  three  cases  out  of  five,  by  mechanics, 
or  by  business  men,  who  have  brought  to  this  little 
episode  in  their  life,  the  methodical  habits,  and  the 
observance  of  details,  which  govern  their  ordinary 
business  duties.  Not  being  in  the  way  of  leaving 
book  accounts,  or  stock  on  hand,  to  take  care  of 
themselves,  they  are  no  more  inclined  to  leave  an  in 
vestment  in  trees  or  orcharding — to  take  care  of  itself. 
They  reckon  upon  care  at  the  outset,  and  they  bestow 
it.  The  farmer,  who  has  complacently  smiled  at 
their  inexperience  in  tillage,  and  is  confounded  by 
the  results,  will  loosely  attribute  them  all  to  a  lavish 
and  thriftless  expenditure  of  money.  But  the  conclu 
sion  is  neither  logical,  nor  warranted, — in  the  majority 
of  instances,— by  the  facts.  No  superior  fruit  can  be 
grown  without  labor  and  extreme  care,  and  if  those 
be  controlled  by  a  business  system,  they  will  be  far 


276  MY  FARM. 

more  economically  bestowed,  than  when  subject  to 
no  order  in  their  application. 

From  time  to  time  I  observe  that  some  venerable 
old  gentleman  in  my  neighborhood  is  overtaken  by 
one  of  those  sporadic  fevers  of  improvement,  which 
will  sometimes,  and  very  strangely,  attack  the  most 
tranquil  and  self-satisfied  of  men.  The  attack  is  a 
slight  one,  of  the  orchard  type.  He  consults  far  and 
near  in  regard  to  the  best  sorts  of  fruit.  He  devotes 
to  the  experiment  one  of  his  best  lots,  reserving  the 
very  best  for  his  next  year's  patch  of  potatoes.  The 
land  he  reckons  in  '  good  heart,'  since  he  has  just 
taken  off  a  heavy  crop  of  corn.  He  digs  his  holes, 
after  an  elaborate  system  of  garden  measurement  and 
stake-driving,  which,  to  his  poor,  fagged  brain,  seems 
the  very  climax  of  geometric  endeavor.  The  young 
trees  are  carefully  staked,  and  for  a  year  or  two  show 
a  thrifty  look.  But  the  spring  temptation  to  put  a 
crop  between  the  roots  is  irresistible  ;  the  ploughing 
oxen  browse  a  few— knock  over  a  few— break  off  a 
few.  This  maddens  our  friend  into  a  '  laying-down ' 
of  the  orchard  to  grass  ;  he  half  promises  himself,  in 
deed,  that  he  will  give  hand-cultivation  to  the  trees, — 
but  he  does  not ;  his  fever  is  abating,  and  so  is  his 
orcharding.  The  mosses  fasten  on  the  young  trees, 
the  borers  play  havoc,  the  caterpillars  strip  them,  the 
rank  grass  strangles  them. 


AND  HELPS.  £77 

From  beginning  to  end  there  has  been  no  business 
forecast  of  the  requisite  labor  involved,  no  method  in 
its  prosecution — no  estimate  of  the  scheme  as  a  busi 
ness  operation. 

It  is  certain  that  by  a  special  dispensation  of 
Providence  in  favor  of  those  who  make  up  the  bulk 
of  the  human  family,  a  man  may  secure  a  simple  live 
lihood  in  agricultural  pursuits,  with  less  of  energy, 
less  of  promptitude,  less  of  calculation,  and  greater 
unth  rift  generally,  than  would  be  compatible  with 
even  this  scanty  aim,  in  any  other  calling  of  life. 
With  a  respectable  crop  insured  by  only  a  moderate 
amount  of  attention  and  activity,  the  temptation  to  a 
lazy  indifference,  and  a  sleepy  passivity,  is  immense. 
There  are  farmers  who  yield  to  the  temptation  grace 
fully  and  completely.  The  stir,  the  \vakefulness,  the 
promptitude  that  seize  upon  new  issues,  develop  new 
enterprises,  create  new  demands,  are  as  foreign  to  the 
majority  of  landholders,  as  a  ringing  discussion  of 
new  topics,  or  a  juicy  haunch  of  Southdown,  to  their 
tables. 

But  whatever  may  be  the  triumphs  of  business 
tact — and  of  a  just  apportionment  of  capital,  between 
land  and  implements,  or  fertilizers,  the  real  question 
with  a  man  of 'any  considerable  degree  of  cultivation 
who  meditates  country  life, — is  not  whether  legitimate 
attention  will  secure  a  tolerable  balance  sheet,  and 


278  MY  FARM. 

the  fattening  of  fine  beeves,  but  whether  the  life  a  nd 
the  rural  occupations  offer  verge  and  scope  for  the 
development  of  his  culture — whether  land  and  land 
scape  will  ripen  under  assiduous  care  into  graces  that 
will  keep  his  attachment  strong,  and  enlist  the  activ 
ities  of  his  thought  ? 
Let  us  inquire. 

Place  for  Science. 

BECAUSE  a  man  cannot  revolutionize  farming 
and  its  practice  by  clean  copies  of  Boussin- 
gault  and  Liebig  under  his  arm,  or  upon  his  table,  it 
by  no  means  follows  that  an  intelligent  person  who  is 
concerned  in  rural  occupations  may  not  profitably 
give  days  and  nights  to  their  study.  Because  we 
cannot  conquer  all  diseases,  and  clearly  explain  all 
the  issues  of  life  and  death  by  the  best  of  medical 
theories,  it  by  no  means  follows  that  the  best  medical 
practitioner  should  therefore  abandon  all  the  literature 
of  the  subject.  The  scientific  inquirers  who  direct 
their  view  to  agricultural  interests,  deal  with  prob 
lems  which  are  within  the  farmer's  domain  ;  and  if 
their  solutions  are  not  always  final  or  directly  avail 
able,  the  very  intricacy  of  their  nature  must  pique  his 
wonder,  and  enlist  his  earnest  inquiry. 

A  magnificent  mystery  is  lying  under  these  green 
coverlets  of  the  fields,  and  within  every  unfolding 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  279 

germ  of  the  plants.  The  chemist  is  seeking  to  unrid 
dle  it  in  his  way ;  while  we  farmers, — by  grosser 
methods, — are  unriddling  it,  in  ours.  Checks  and  hin 
drances  meet  us  both  ;  both  need  an  intimate  com 
parison  of  results  for  progress.  If  we  sneer  at  the 
chemist  for  his  shifting  theories  in  regard  to  the  ni- 
trogenized  manures — no  one  of  which  is  sufficiently 
established  for  the  direction  of  a  fixed  practice — the 
chemist  may  return  the  sneer  with  interest,  when  he 
sees  us  making  such  application  of  a  valuable  salt,  as 
shall  lock  up  its  solubility  and  utterly  annul  its  effi 
cacy.  It  is  a  pretty  little  duel  for  our  intelligent  ob 
server  to  watch :  the  chemist  fulminating  his  doc 
trines,  based  on  formulas  and  an  infinity  of  retorts  ; 
and  we,  replying  only  with  the  retort — courteous  and 
practical.  But  always  the  unfathomable  mystery  of 
growth — vegetable  and  animal — remains  ;  the  chem 
ist  seeking  to  explain  it,  and  we  only  to  promote  it. 
If  the  chemist  could  explain  by  promoting  it,  he 
would  turn  farmer  ;  and  if  farmers  could  promote  it 
by  trying  to  explain  it,  they  would  all  turn  chemists. 
Many  good  people,  of  a  short  range  of  inquiry, 
and  a  shorter  range  of  reflection,  imagine  that  when 
the  agriculturist  has,  by  the  chemist's  aid,  deter 
mined  the  elements  of  his  crops,  and  by  the  same  aid, 
determined  the  merits  of  different  bags  of  phosphates 
or  guanos,  that  nothing  remains  but  to  match  these 


280  MY  FARM. 

chemical  colors  as  he  would  match  colts, — and  the  race 
is  won.  They  fancy  that  the  new  analyses  and  ex 
periments — so  delicate  and  so  elaborate — are  by  their 
revelations  reducing  the  art  of  farming  to  a  simple 
affair  of  the  mechanical  adjustment  of  regularly-bil 
leted  chemical  forces.  There  could  not  be  a  greater 
mistake  made ;  so  far  from  simplifying,  the  new  in 
vestigations  demand  a  larger  practical  skill,  since  the 
conditions  under  which  it  works  are  amplified  and 
extended.  The  old  bases  of  procedure,  if  faulty, 
were  at  least  compact ;  the  experimental  farmer  dealt 
with  but  few,  and  those  clearly  defined  ;  but  scien 
tific  investigation,  by  its  refining  processes,  has  split 
the  old  bases  of  action  into  a  hundred  lesser  truths, 
each  one  of  which  must  be  taken  into  the  account, 
and  modify  our  operations. 

There  was  a  time,  for  instance,  when  science,  ob 
serving  that  a  living  plant  built  itself  out  of  the 
debris  of  dead  plants,  declared  for  the  primal  neces 
sity  of  a  large  supply  of  decayed  vegetable  material. 
This  at  least  was  simple,  and  the  farmer,  if  he  had 
only  his  stock  of  humus,  left  the  further  fulfilment 
of  the  miracle  of  growth  to  wind  and  weather.  In 
process  of  time,  however,  science  detected  the  rare 
luxuriance  which  ammonia  imparts  to  plant  foliage, 
and  after  refining  upon  the  observation,  declared  for 
nitrogen  as  the  great  needed  element ;  schedules  were 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  281 

prepared  and  widely  published,  in  which  the  various 
manures  were  graduated  in  value,  in  strict  accordance 
with  their  respective  admixtures  of  nitrogenous  ma 
terial.  The  quiet  farmer  accepts  the  theory,  and  con 
siders  the  wonderful  effects  that  follow  the  applica 
tion  of  the  droppings  from  his  dovecot,  a  demonstra 
tion  of  its  truth. 

But  he  has  hardly  nestled  himself  warmly  into 
this  belief, — modified  to  a  degree  by  the  humus  doc 
trine,  than  a  distinguished  chemist  comes  down  upon 
us  all  with  the  representation — supported  by  a  large 
array  of  figures — that  nitrogen  is  already  present  in 
ample  quantity  in  almost  all  soils,  and  that  the  vital 
necessity  in  the  way  of  fertilizers,  is  the  mineral  ele 
ment  of  the  plant.  This  splinters  once  again  the 
compactness  of  our  purpose,  and  puts  us  upon  a  keen 
scent  for  the  soluble  phosphates ;  though  without 
destroying  our  faith  in  good  vegetable-mould  and 
strong-smelling  manures. 

And  not  only  in  this  direction,  but  also  in  what 
relates  to  the  feeding  of  animals,  the  germination  of 
seeds,  the  comminution  of  soils,  the  chemical  effects 
of  air,  and  light,  and  warmth— we  have  a  handled 
minute  truths  by  which  to  adjust  our  practical  man 
agement,  where  we  had  formerly  less  than  a  score  of 
gross  ones.  And  in  this  adjustment — modified  still 
further  by  a  great  many  physiological  and  meteorolo 


282  MY  FARM. 

gical  considerations — I  think  a  man  of  tolerable  parts 
might  find  enough  to  lay  his  mind  to  very  closely, 
and  to  encourage  some  activity  of  thought. 

There  will  be  disappointments — as  in  every  sphere 
of  life.  I  have  felt  them  keenly  and  often.  The 
humus  has  baffled  my  expectations,  and  my  potatoes ; 
the  nitrogenous  riches  have  shot  up  into  thickets  of 
rank  and  watery  luxuriance  ;  the  phosphoric  acid  has 
oozed  into  some  unthrifty  combination,  or  has  re 
mained  locked  up  in  an  unyielding  nugget  of  Som 
brero.  But  little  disappointments  count  for  nothing, 
when  (as  now)  we  are  reckoning  the  pabulum  which 
agricultural  employments  furnish  lor  intellectual  ac 
tivity.  The  rural  adventurer  may  not  only  regale 
himself  with  a  considerable  series  of  nice  chemical 
puzzles  at  every  cropping-time,  but  he  may  give  his 
thoughts  to  original  investigation  of  the  habits  of  the 
plants  themselves ;  the  career  of  a  Decandolle  could 
have  had  no  finer  start-point  than  a  country  farm 
with  its  living  herbaria,  and  its  opportunities  for  ob 
servation  ;  we  want  a  good  monograph  of  our  great 
national  crop  of  maize — so  soon  as  the  man  shall  ap 
pear  to  make  it.  We  want,  too,  some  Buffon  (with 
out  his  foppery)  to  unearth  our  field  mice,  and  to  put 
a  great  tribe  of  insect  depredators  to  flight. 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  283 

^Esthetics  of  the  Business. 

WHAT  is  needed,  perhaps  more  than  all  else,  in 
our  agricultural  regions,  is — such  intelligible, 
imitable,  and  economic  demonstrations  of  the  laws 
of  good  taste,  as  shall  provoke  emulation,  and  redeem 
the  small  farmer — unwittingly,  it  may  be — from  his 
slovenly  barbarities  and  his  grossness  of  life.  Here 
is  verge,  surely,  for  a  man's  cultivation,  for  his  apti 
tude,  and  for  those  graces  which  shall  fix  his  attach 
ment  while  they  plead  their  lessons  of  appeal. 

It  seems  hardly  necessary  to  urge  a  necessity  for 
this  direction  of  effort.  There  is  certainly  no  race 
of  country-livers  in  the  world,  who,  with  equal,  or 
even  a  kindred  intelligence,  are  so  destitute  of  all 
sense  of  the  graces  of  life  and  home,  as  the  small 
New  England  farmers. 

A  certain  stark  neatness,  confined  mostly  to  kitch 
ens,  pantries,  and  such  portions  of  the  door-yard  as 
are  under  the  eye  of  the  goodwife,  mostly  limits  their 
efforts  in  this  direction.  It  may  be  that  a  staring 
coat  of  white  paint  upon  the  house  completes  the  in- 
vestiture  of  charms;  while,  at  every  hand,  heaps  of 
rubbish— cumbering  the  public  road— and  piles  of 
straggling  wood,  dissipate  any  illusion  which  a  well- 
scrubbed  interior,  or  the  fresh  paint,  may  have 
created. 


284  MY  FARM. 

Here  and  there  we  come  upon  a  certain  neatness 
and  order  in  enclosures,  buildings,  and  fields  ;  but  ten 
to  one  the  keeping  of  the  picture  is  absolutely  ruined 
by  the  slatternly  condition  of  the  highway,  to  which, — 
though  it  pass  within  ten  feet  of  his  door, — the  farmer, 
by  a  strange  inconsequence,  pays  no  manner  of  heed. 
lie  makes  it  the  receptacle  of  all  waste  material,  and 
foists  upon  the  public  the  offal,  which  he  will  not 
tolerate  within  the  limits  of  his  enclosure.  And  the 
highway  purveyors  are  mostly  as  brutally  unobserv 
ant  of  neatness  as  the  farmer  himself;  nay,  they  seem 
to  put  an.  officious  pride  into  the  unseemliness  and 
rawness  of  their  work  ;  and  it  is  only  by  most  per 
sistent  watchfulness  that  I  have  been  able  to  prevent 
some  bullet-headed  road-mender  from  digging  into 
the  turf-slopes  at  my  very  door. 

Here  and  there  I  see,  up  and  down  the  country, 
frequent  attempts  at  what  is  counted  ornamentation 
— fantastic  trellises  cut  out  of  whitened  planks,  cum 
brous  balustrades,  with  a  multitude  of  shapeless 
fiuials,  or  whimsical  pagodas — imitations  of  what 
cannot  be  imitated,  even  if  worthy ; — but  of  the  hun 
dred  nameless  graces,  wrought  of  home  material, 
delighting  you  by  their  unexpectedness,  piquing  you 
by  their  simplicity,  and  winning  upon  every  passer 
by,  by  their  thorough  agreement  with  landscape,  and 
surroundings,  and  the  offices  of  the  farmer,  I  see  far 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  285 

less.  The  only  idea  of  elegance  and  beauty  which 
finds  footing,  is  of  something  extraneous — outside  his 
life — not  mating  with  his  opportunities  or  purposes — 
and  only  to  be  compassed,  as  a  special  extravagance, 
upon  which  some  town  joiner  must  lavish  his  '  ogees,' 
and  which  shall  serve  as  a  blatant  type  of  the  farm 
er's  '  forehandedness.'  This  is  all  very  pitiful ;  it 
gives  no  charm ;  it  educates  to  no  sense  of  the  tender 
graces  of  those  simple,  honest  adornments  which 
ought  to  refine  the  country-liver,  and  to  refine  the 
tastes  of  his  children.  I  am  not  writing  in  any  spirit 
of  sentimental  romanticism.  If  Arcadia  and  its  pas 
torals  have  gone  by  (and  I  think  they  have),  God, 
and  nature,  and  sunshine,  have  not  gone  by.  Nor 
yet  the  trees,  and  the  flowers,  or  green  turf,  or  a 
thousand  kindred  charms,  which  the  humblest  farmer 
has  in  his  keeping,  and  may  spend  around  his  door 
and  homestead,  with  such  simple  grace,  such  afflu 
ence,  such  economy  of  labor,  such  unity  of  design,  as 
shall  enchain  regard,  ripen  the  instincts  of  his  chil 
dren  to  a  finer  sense-  of  the  bounties  they  enjoy,  and 
kindle  the  admiration  of  every  intelligent  observer. 

A  neglect  of  these  attractions,  which  are  so  con 
spicuous  along  all  the  by-ways  of  England,  and  in 
many  portions  of  the  continent,  is  attributable  per 
haps  in  some  degree  to  the  unrest  of  much  of  our 
rural  population.  The  man  who  pitches  his  white 


286  MY  FARM. 

tent  beside  the  road,  for  what  forage  he  may 
easily  gather  up,  and  is  ready  always  for  a  sale,  will 
care  little  for  any  of  the  more  delicate  graces  of 
home.  And  with  those  who  have  some  permanent 
establishment,  I  think  the  root  of  the  difficulty  may 
lie  very  much  in  that  proud  and  sensitive  individual 
ity  which  is  the  growth  of  our  democratic  institu 
tions.  There  is  an  absolute  and  charming  fittingness 
about  most  of  these  humble  rural  adornments,  of 
which  I  speak,  which  our  progressive  friend  does  not 
like  to  adopt,  by  reason  of  their  fittingness,  and  be 
cause  they  give  quasi  indication  of  limited  means  and 
humble  estate.  When,  therefore,  such  an  one  makes 
blundering  effort  to  accomplish  something  in  the  way 
of  decorative  display,  it  is  very  apt  to  take  a  grand 
iose  type,  showing  vulgar  strain  toward  those  adorn 
ments  of  the  town  which  are  wholly  unsuited  to  his 
habits  and  surroundings.  Thus  a  thriving  ruralist 
with  a  family  of  two,  will  build  a  house  as  large  as  a 
church,  and  perch  a  cupola  upon  it,  from  which  he 
may  review  the  flat  country  for  miles,  while  he  con 
tents  himself  with  occupancy  of  the  back-kitchen 
If  contented  with  small  space,  why  not,  in  the  name 
of  honesty,  declare  it  boldly,  instead  of  covering  the 
truth,  under  such  lumbering  falsehood?  What  for 
bids  giving  to  the  country  home  a  simple  propriety 
of  its  own,  with  its  own  wealth  of  rural  decoration — 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  287 

its  shrubbery,  its  vines,  its  arbors,  instead  of  chal 
lenging  unfavorable  comparison  with  an  entirely  dif 
ferent  class  of  homes  ?  If  a  man  is  disposed  to  ad 
vertise  by  flaming  architecture  and  appointments— 
'I  arn  only  farmer  by  accident,  and  competent  (as 
you  see)  to  live  in  a  grand  way,'  there  is  little  hope 
that  he  will  ever  do  anything  to  the  credit  of  farm 
ing  interests,  or  contribute  very  largely  to  the  best 
charms  of  our  rural  landscape.  The  attempt  to  bet 
ter  one's  condition  is  always  praiseworthy ;  but  it  is 
only  base  and  ignoble  to  attempt  to  cover  one's  con 
dition  with  an  idle  smack  of  something  larger. 

There  will  always  be  in  every  moderately  free 
country  a  great  class  of  small  landholders,  in  whose 
hands  will  lie  for  the  most  part,  the  control  of  our 
rural  landscape,  and  the  fashioning  of  our  wayside 
homes,  and  when  they  shall  take  pride,  as  a  body,  in 
giving  grace  to  these  homes,  the  country  will  have 
taken  a  long  step  forward  in  the  refinements  of  civil 
ization.  If  I  have  no  coaches  and  horses,  I  can  at  least 
hang  a  tracery  of  vine  leaves  along  my  porch,  so 
exquisitely  delicate  that  no  sculpture  can  match  it ; 
if  I  have  no  conservatories  with  their  wonders,  yet 
the  sun  and  I  together  can  build  up  a  little  tangled 
coppice  of  blooming  things  in  my  door-yard,  of 
which  every  tiny  floral  leaflet  shall  be  a  miracle. 
Kay,  I  may  make  my  home,  however  small  it  be,  so 


238  MY  FARM. 

complete  in  its  simplicity,  so  fitted  to  its  offices,  so 
governed  by  neatness,  so  embowered  by  wealth  of 
leaf  and  flower,  that  no  riches  in  the  world  could  add 
to  it,  without  damaging  its  rural  grace;  and  my 
gardeners— Sunshine,  Frost,  and  Showers  are  their 
names—shall  work  for  me  with  no  crusty  reluctance, 
but  with  an  abandon  and  a  zeal  that  ask  only  grati 
tude  for  pay. 

But  let  us  come  to  details. 

Walks. 

A  WALK  is,  first  of  all,  a  convenience  ;  whether 
leading  from  door  to  highway,  or  to  the  stable 
court,  or  through  gardens,  or  to  the  wood,  it  is  essen 
tially,  and  most  of  all— a  convenience ;  and  to  despoil 
it  of  this  quality,  by  interposing  circles  or  curves, 
which  have  no  meaning  or  sufficient  cause,  is  mere 
affectation.  ISTot  to  say,  however,  that  all  paths 
should  be  straight ;  the  farmer,  whose  home  is  at  a 
considerable  remove  from  the  highway,  and  who 
drives  his  team  thither,  avoiding  rock,  and  tree,  and 
hillock,  will  give  to  his  line  of  approach  a  grace  that 
it  would  be  hard  to  excel  by  counterfeit.  Pat,  stag- 
gering  from  the  orchard,  under  a  bushel  of  Bartlett 
pears,  and  seizing  upon  every  accidental  aid  in  the 
surface  of  the  declivity  to  relieve  the  fatigue  of  his 
walk — zigzagging,  as  it  were  in  easy  curves,  is  uncon- 


HINDRANCES  AND   HELPS.  289 

sciously  laying  down — though  not  a  graceful  man — a 
very  graceful  line  of.  march.  And  it  is  the  delicate 
interpretation  of  these  every-day  deflexities,  and  this 
instinctive  tortuousness  (if  I  may  so  say),  which  sup 
plies,  or  should  supply,  th^  landscape  gardeners  with 
their  best  formulae. 

There  is  no  liver  in  the  country  so  practical,  or  of 
so  humble  estate,  but  he  will  have  his  half  dozen  paths 
divergent  from  his  door ;  and  these  he  may  keep  dry, 
and  in  always  serviceable  condition,  by  simply  remov 
ing  the  soil  from  them  to  the  depth  of  eighteen  or 
twenty  inches,  and  burying  in  them  the  scattered 
stones  and  debris,  which  are  feeding  weed-crops  in 
idle  corners ;  he  will  thus  relieve  himself  of  the  use 
less  material  that  might  cumber  the  highway,  besides 
possessing  himself  of  the  greater  part  of  the  top  soil 
removed,  for  admixture  with  his  composts.  And 
this  substitution  may  progress,  season  by  season ;  as 
the  garden  rakings  or  refuse  material  accumulate,  he 
has  only  to  remove  a  few  cubic  yards  of  earth  from 
his  paths,  bury  the  waste,  and  reserve  the  more  avail 
able  portions  of  the  mould. 

The  same  rules  of  construction  are  good  for  all 
road-ways,  more  especially  for  the  farmer  who  wants 
unyielding  metal  beneath  his  heavy  cartage  of  spring. 
The  perfection  of  roads  of  course  supposes  perfect 
drair;age,  and  a  deep  bed  of  stone  material ;  but  I 
13 


290  MY  FARM. 

am  only  suggesting  methods  which   are  in  keeping' 
with  ordinary  farm  economies. 

There  must  needs  be  directness  in  all  paths  com 
municating  with  out-buildings,  and  the  exigencies  of 
economic  and  effective  culture  demand  the  straight 
lines  in  the  kitchen  garden  ;  but  when  I  take  a  friend 
to  some  pretty  point  of  view,  or  a  little  parterre  cf 
flowers  dropped  in  the  turf, — we  are  not  hurried ;  the 
dainty  curves  make  a  pleasant  cheatery  of  the  ap 
proach.  Thus  there  is  charming  accord  between  the 
best  rules  for  landscape  outlay,  and  the  wants  of  the 
country-liver ;  where  economy  of  tillage  or  of  labor 
demands  directness,  the  paths  should  be  direct ;  and 
where  economy  of  pleasure  suggests  loitering,  the 
paths  may  loiter.  And  so,  they  loiter  away  through 
pleasant  wooded  coppices — doubling  upon  themselves 
on  some  rocky  pitch  of  hill — short  reaches,  concealed 
each  one  from  the  other — blinded  by  thick  under 
wood — wantoning  in  curves,  until  presently  from 
under  a  low-branching  beech  tree,  there  bursts  on 
the  eye  a  great  view  of  farm,  and  forest,  and  city, 
and  sea ;  always  a  charming  view  indeed,  though  we 
toiled  straight  toward  it,  in  broaa  sunshine  ;  but  the 
winding  through  the  coppice,  unsuspecting, — busied 
with  ferns  and  lichens,  and  shut  in  by  dark  over 
growth  against  any  glimpse  of  sky, — makes  it  ten 
fold  ravishing. 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  291 

What  if  such  walks  be  not  nicely  gravelled — what 
if  you  come  upon  no  grubbing  gardeners  ?  If  only 
they  be  easy  and  serviceable,  I  love  their  rain  stains, 
and  their  fine  mosses  creeping  into  green  mats ;  I 
love  their  irregular  borders,  with  a  fern  or  a  gentian 
nodding  over  the  bounds — a  pretty  sylvan  welcome 
to  your  tread.  There  are  little  foot-paths  I  know, — 
only  beaten  by  the  patter  of  young  feet — winding 
away  through  lawn  or  orchard  to  some  favorite  apple 
tree, — frequented  most,  after  some  brisk  wind-storm 
has  passed  over, — that  I  think  I  admire  more  than  any 
gravelled  walks  in  the  world. 

And  there  are  other  simple  foot-paths,  which  I  re 
member  loitering  through  day  after  day,  in  the  rural 
districts  of  England,  with  a  sense  of  enjoyment,  that 
never  belonged  to  saunterings  in  the  alleys  of  Ver 
sailles. 

A  man  does  not  know  England,  or  English  land 
scape,  or  English  country  feeling,  until  he  has  broken 
away  from  railways,  from  cities,  from  towns,  and 
clambered  over  stiles,  and  lost  himself  in  the  fields. 

Talk  of  Chatsworth,  and  Blenheim,  and 

Eaton  Hall !  Does  a  man  know  the  pleasure  of 
healthy  digestion  by  eating  whip-syllabub  ?  Did 
Turner  go  to  Belvoir  Castle  park  for  the  landscapes 
which  link  us  to  God's  earth? 

What  a  joy  and  a  delight  in  those  field  foot-patha 


292  MY  FARM. 

of  England!  Not  the  paths  of  owners  only;  not 
cautiously  gravelled  walks ;  but  all  men's  paths, 
where  any  wayfarer  may  go  ;  worn  smooth  by  poor 
feet  and  rich  feet,  idle  feet  and  working  feet ;  open 
across  the  fields  from  time  immemorial ;  God's  paths 
for  his  people,  which  no  man  may  shut ; — winding — 
coiling  over  stiles — leaping  on  stepping-stones  through 
brooks — with  curves  more  graceful  than  Hogarth's— 
hieroglyphics  of  the  Great  Master  written  on  the  land, 
which,  being  interpreted,  say — Love  one  another. 

We  call  ours  a  country  of  privilege,  yet  what 
rich  man  gives  right  of  way  over  his  grounds  ? 
What  foot-patli  or  stile  to  cheat  the  laborer  of  hit 
fatigue  ? 

SJiruTJbery. 

DOES  the  reader  remember  that  upon  the  June 
day  on  which  I  first  visited  My  Farm,  I  de 
scribed  the  air  as  all  aflow  with  the  perfume  of  pur 
ple  lilacs ;  and  does  lie  think  that  I  would  ungrate 
fully  forget  it,  or  forget  the  lilacs  ?  The  Lilac  is  one 
of  those  old  shrubs  which  I  cling  to  with  an  admira 
tion  that  is  almost  reverence.  The  Syringo  (Phi la- 
del  phus)  is  another;  and  the  Guelder-rose  (Viburnum) 
is  another.  They  are  all  infamously  common ;  but  so 
fs  sunshine. 

The  Mezereum,  the  Forsythia,  and  the  Weigelia 


HINDRANCES  AND   HELPS.  293 

have  their  attractions  ; — the  Mezereum,  because  it  is 
first  comer  in  the  spring,  and  shows  its  modest  crim 
son  tufts  of  blossoms,  while  the  March  snows  are  lin 
gering  ;  the  Forsythia  follows  hard  upon  it,  with  its 
graceful  yellow  bells  ;  and  the  Weigelia,  though  far 
later,  is  gorgeous  in  its  pink  and  white — but  neither 
of  them  is  to  be  matched  against  the  old  favorites  I 
have  named. 

Yet  it  is  after  all  more  in  the  disposition  of  the 
shrubbery,  than  in  the  varieties,  that  a  rational  pleas 
ure  will  be  found.  It  is  not  a  great  burden  of  bloom 
from  any  particular  shrub  that  I  aim  at.  I  do  not 
want  to  prove  what  it  may  do  at  its  best,  and  singly ; 
that  is  the  office  of  the  nurseryman,  who  has  his  ales 
to  make.  But  I  want  to  marry  together  great  ranks 
of  individual  beauties,  so  that  May  flowers  shall 
hardly  be  upon  the  wane,  when  the  blossoms  of  June 
shall  flame  over  their  heads  ;  and  June  in  its  turn 
have  hardly  lost  its  miracles  of  color,  when  July 
shall  commence  its  intermittent  fires,  and  light  up  its 
trail  of  splendor  around  all  the  skirts  of  the  shrub 
bery.  I  want  to  see  the  delicate  white  of  the  Clematis 
(Virginica)  hanging  its  graceful  festoons  of  August, 
here  and  there  in  the  thickets  that  have  lost  their 
summer  flowers  ;  and  after  this  I  welcome  the  blaoK 
berries  of  the  Privet,  or  the  brazen  ones  of  the  twin 
ing  Bitter-sweet. 


294  MY  FARM. 

Or,  it  is  some  larger  group  with  which  we  deal — 
half  up  the  hill-side,  screening  some  ragged  nursery 
of  rocks — and  a  tall  Lombardy-poplar  lifts  from  its 
centre,  while  shining,  yellowish  Beeches  group  around 
it — crowding  it,  forcing  all  its  leafy  vigor  (just  where 
we  wish  it)  into  the  topmost  shoots ;  and  amid  the 
Beeches  are  dark  spots  of  young  Hemlocks — as  if  the 
shadow  of  a  cloud  lay  just  there,  and  the  sun  shone 
on  all  the  rest ;  and  among  the  Hemlocks,  and  reach 
ing  in  jagged  bays  above  and  below  them  are  Sumacs 
(so  beautiful,  and  yet  so  scorned)  lifting  out  from  ah1 
the  tossing  sea  of  leaves,  their  solid  flame-jets  of  fiery 
crimson  berries.  Skirting  these,  and  shining  under 
the  dip  of  a  Willow,  are  the  glossy  Kalmias  which,  at 
midsummer,  were  a  sheet  of  blossoms  ;  and  the  hem 
of  the  group  is  stitched  in  at  last  with  purple  Phloxes 
and  gorgeous  Golden-rod. 

I  know  no  limit  indeed  to  the  combinations  which 
a  man  may  not  affect  who  has  an  eye  for  color,  and  a 
heart  for  the  light  labor  of  the  culture.  There  is, 
unfortunately,  a  certain  stereotyped  way  of  limiting 
these  shrubberies  to  a  few  graceful  exotics, — which, 
of  course,  the  gardeners  commend, — and  of  rating 
the  value  of  foliage  by  its  cost  in  the  nursery.  It  is 
but  a  narrow  and  ungrateful  way  of  dealing  with 
the  bounties  of  Providence.  It  may  accomplish  un 
der  great  care,  very  effective  results ;  but  they  will 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  295 

not  open  the  eyes  of  men  of  humble  estates  to 
the  beauties  that  are  lurking  in  the  forest  all  around 
them,  and  which  only  need  a  little  humanizing  care  to 
rival  the  best  products  of  the  nurseries.  Steering  clear 
of  this  intolerance,  I  have  domesticated  the  Whit^- 
birch,  and  its  milky  bole  is  without  a  rival  among 
all  the  exotics ;  the  Hardbeam  (Carpinus),  with  its  fine 
spray,  and  the  Witch-hazel  (Ilamamelis  virginica)  with 
its  unique  bloom  upon  the  bare  twigs  of  November, 
are  thriving  in  my  thickets.  The  swamp  Azalias,  and 
the  Kalmias  I  have  transferred  successfully,  in  their 
season  of  flowering.*  There  are  also  to  be  named 
among  the  available  native  shrubs, — the  Leather-wood 
(Dirca  palustris)  with  delicate  yellow  bloom,  glossy 
green  leaves,  and  an  amazing  flexibility  of  bough,  on 
which  once  a  year  my  boy  forages  for  his  whip 
lashes  ;  the  Spice-wood  (Laurus  benzoin)  is  always 
tempting  to  the  children  by  reason  of  its  aromatic 
bark,  and  in  earliest  spring  it  is  covered  with  fairy 
golden  flowers  ;  the  spotted  Alder  is  a  modest  shrub 
through  the  summer,  but  in  autumn  it  flames  out 
in  a  great  harvest  of  scarlet  berries,  which  it  carries 
proudly  into  the  chills  of  December ;  the  red-barked 
Dog-wood  (Cornus  sanguinea)  supplies  annually  a 
great  stock  of  crimson  whips,  and  a  charming  liveli 

*  A  much  safer  way  is  to  give  the  young  plants  a  season  or 
two  of  domestication  in  a  patch  of  nursery  ground. 


296  J/r  FARM. 

ness  of  color  for  any  interior  rustic  ornamentation, 
which  a  wet  day  may  put  in  hand ;  the  Swamp-willow 
is  the  very  earliest  of  our  native  shrubs,  to  feel  the 
heats  of  the  March  sun,  and  season  after  season,  the 
little  ones  bring  in  from  its  clump,  its  silvery  strange 
tufts  of  bloom,  and  say  :  "  The  Willow  mice  have 
come, — and  the  spring." 

Nor  must  I  forget  the  Barberry,  beautiful  in  its 
bloom,  and  still  more  beautiful  with  its  crimson  fruit, 
— the  May-flower,  the  Sumac,  the  Sweet-brier,  the 
Bilberry,  with  its  fairy  bells,  and  the  whole  race  of 
wild  vines — among  which  not  least,  is  the  luxuriant 
Frost-grape,  tossing  its  tendrils  with  forest  freedom 
from  the  tops  of  the  tallest  trees,  and  in  later  June 
filling  the  whole  air  with  the  exquisite  perfume  of  its 
blossoms. 

It  may  seem  that  a  great  estate  and  wide  reach 
of  land  may  be  demanded  for  the  aggregation  of  all 
these  denizens  of  the  wood  ;  yet  it  is  not  so  ;  1  have 
all  these  and  more  than  these,  with  room  for  their 
own  riotous  luxuriance,  in  scattered  groups  and 
copses,  without  abstracting  so  much  as  an  acre  from 
the  tillable  surface  of  the  land.  The  brambles,  ihick- 
ets,  and  unkempt  hedge-rows  which  half  the  farmera 
of  the  country  leave  to  encroach  upon  the  fertility 
and  order  of  their  fields,  work  tenfold  more  of  harm, 
than  the  coppices  which  I  have  planted  on  rocky  de« 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  297 

clivities,  and  on  lands,  else  unserviceable ;  or  as  a 
shelter  to  my  garden  or  poultry  yard, — as  a  screen 
from  the  too  curious  eyes  of  the  public ; — tangled 
wildernesses,  not  without  an  order  of  their  own,  - 
offering  types  of  all  the  forest  growth,  where  the 
little  ones  may  learn  the  forest  names,  and  habit — a 
living  book  of  botany,  whose  tender  lessons  are  read 
and  remembered,  as  the  successive  seasons  waft  us 
their  bloom  and  perfume. 

These  groups  will,  of  course,  demand  some  care 
for  their  effective  establishment ;  care  is  a  price  we 
must  all  pay  for  whatever  beautiful  growth  we  secure 
— whether  in  our  trees  or  our  lives. 

It  is  specially  imperative  that  all  turf  be  removed, 
wherever  a  group  of  shrubs  or  forest  trees  are  to  be 
planted;  trenching  is  by  no  means  essential,  and 
with  many  of  the  forest  denizens,  promotes  a  woody 
luxuriance  that  delays  bloom.  My  own  practice  has 
been  to  compost  the  turf  as  it  was  taken  up,  upon  the 
ground,  with  lime,  and  possibly  a  castor-pomace,  or 
other  nitrogenous  fertilizer ;  this  I  reserved  for  a  top- 
dressing,  as  the  shrubs  might  seem  to  require,  and  no 
other  application  of  manure  is  ever  made.  Three 
times,  the  first  year,  and  twice,  the  second  year,  it 
may  be  necessary  to  give  hoe-culture,  in  order  to 
keep  the  grass  and  other  foreign  growth  in  abeyance. 
After  this,  a  single  dressing  is  amply  sufficient ;  and 
13* 


298  MY  FARM. 

on  his  after-dinner  strolls  to  the  thickets,  the  planter 
will  not  forget  his  pruning-knife  and  his  saw. 

A  little  patch  of  good,  and  thoroughly  tilled  nur 
sery-ground  is  very  convenient  as  a  tender  upon 
these  wood-groups,  as  well  as  upon  the  orchard. 
Within  a  small  one  of  my  own — of  less  than  an 
eighth  of  an  acre,  I  have  now  thriving  hundreds  of 
hemlocks,  white-pines,  birches,  maples,  alders,  vines, 
beeches,  willows,  kalmias, — with  which  I  may  at  any 
time  thicken  up  the  skirts  of  the  established  groups 
to  any  color  I  like,  or  plant  a  new  one  upon  some 
scurvy  bit  of  land,  which  has  proved  itself  unremu- 
nerative  under  other  croppings. 

Altogether,  these  shows  of  forest  foliage,  with 
here  and  there  an  exotic,  or  a  fruit-tree  thrown  in, — 
involve  less  cost  than  one  would  give  to  an  ordinary 
crop  of  corn ;  and  when  the  corn  is  harvested,  the 
crop  is  done ;  but  with  my  shrubberies — of  which  I 
know  every  tree  from  the  day  of  its  first  struggle 
with  the  changed  position — the  weird,  wild  growth 
is  every  year  progressing — every  year  presenting 
some  new  phase  of  color  or  of  shape  : — every  spring 
I  see  my  trees  rejoicing  in  a  flutter  of  young  leaves, 
and  then  wantoning — like  grown  girls — in  the  lusty 
vigor  of  summer :  in  autumn  I  look  wistfully  on 
them,  wearing  gala-dresses,  whose  colors  I  dare  not 
*iame,  and  when  these  are  shivered  by  the  frost, — 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPb.  299 

tranquilly  disrobing,  and   retiring   to   the   sleep   of 
winter. 

Rural  Decoration. 

AMONG  the  things  which  specially  contribute 
to  the  charms  of  a  country-home,  are  those 
thousand  little  adornments,  which  a  person  of  quick 
observation  and  ready  tact  can  easily  avail  himself 
of;  and  wl  ile  gratifying  his  own  artistic  perceptions, 
he  can  contribute  to  the  growth  of  a  humble  art-love, 
which  it  is  to  be  hoped  will  some  day  give  a  charm 
to  every  road-side,  and  to  every  country  cottage.  It 
is  by  no  means  true  that  a  taste  of  this  kind  must 
necessarily — like  Sir  Visto's — prove  a  man's  ruin. 
The  land  is  indeed  a  great  absorbent ;  and  if  no  dis 
cretion  be  brought  to  the  direction  of  outlay  in 
adornments  and  improvements,  or  if  they  be  not  or 
dered  by  a  severe  and  inexorable  simplicity,  it  is  quite 
incredible  what  amounts  of  money  may  be  expended. 
I  have  in  an  earlier  portion  of  this  volume,  hinted 
at  certain  changes  which  may  be  made,  in  the  throw 
ing  out  of  some  half  dozen  angular  and  unimportant 
enclosures,  at  the  door,  into  open  lawn — in  the  re 
moval  of  unnecessary  fences,  and  the  establishment 
of  groups  of  shrubbery  to  hide  roughness,  or  to  fur 
nish  shelter  :  all  which  involve  little  expenditure,  and 
are  not  in  violation  of  any  rules  of  well-considered 


300  MY  FARM. 

economy.  I  may  now  add  to  these  the  effects  of 
little  unimportant  architectural  devices,  not  requiring 
a  practical  builder,  and  which  while  they  lend  a  great 
charm  to  landscape,  give  an  individuality  to  a  man's 
home. 

The  reader  will  perhaps  allow  me  to  particularize 
from  my  own  experience.  There  were,  to  begin 
with,  some  four  or  five  disorderly  buildings  about 
the  farm-house — sheds,  shops,  coal-houses,  smoke 
houses — built  up  of  odds  and  ends  of  lumber — boards 
matching  oddly,  some  half  painted,  others  too  rough 
for  paint — altogether  scarcely  bad  enough  for  removal, 
and  yet  terribly  slatternly  and  dismal  in  their  general 
effect.  They  were  not  worth  new  covering  ;  painting 
was  impossible  ;  arid  whitewashing  would  only  have 
lighted  up  the  seams  and  inequalities  more  staringly. 
A  half  a  mile  away  was  a  little  mill,  where  cedar 
posts  were  squared  by  a  circular  saw,  and  the  slabs 
were  packed  away  for  fuel  (and  very  poor  fuel  they 
made).  One  day,  as  my  eye  lighted  upon  them,  an 
idea  for  their  conversion  to  other  uses  struck  me,  and 
fructified  at  once.  I  bought  a  cord  or  two  at  a  nom« 
inal  rate,  and  commenced  the  work  of  covering  my 
disjointed  and  slatternly  outbuildings  with  these 
rough  slabs.  It  was  a  simple  business,  requiring 
only  even  nailing,  with  here  and  there  a  little  '  fur 
ring  out '  to  bring  the  old  angles  to  a  square,  with 


HINDRANCES  AND   HELPS.  301 

here  and  there  the  deft  turning  of  a  rude  arch,  with 
two  crooked  bits,  over  door  or  window.  Farm  la 
borers,  under  direction,  were  fully  competent  to  the 
work ;  and  in  a  couple  of  days  I  had  converted  my 
unsightly  buildings  into  very  tasteful,  rustic  affairs, 
harmonizing  with  the  banks  of  foliage  behind  and 
over  them,  and  giving  capital  foothold  to  the  vines 
which  I  planted  around  them. 

In  keeping  with  their  effect,  I  caused  gates  to  be 
constructed  of  the  cheapest  material,  from  the  cedar 
thickets  ;  varying  these  in  design,  and  yet  making 
each  so  simple  as  to  admit  of  easy  imitation,  and  to 
unite  strength,  solidity,  and  cheapness.  If,  indeed, 
these  latter  qualities  could  not  be  united,  the  work 
would  not  at  all  meet  the  end  I  had  in  view — which 
was  not  merely  to  produce  a  pretty  effect,  but  to 
demonstrate  the  harmony  of  such  decorative  work 
with  true  farm  economy.  One  often  sees,  indeed,  rus 
tic-work  of  most  cumbrous  and  portentous  dimensions 
— overladen  with  extraordinary  crooks  and  curves, 
and  showing  at  a  glance  immense  labor  in  selection 
and  in  arrangement.  All  this  may  be  pleasing,  and 
often  exceedingly  beautiful ;  but  it  is  a  mere  affecta 
tion  of  rural  simplicity ;  it  wears  none  of  that  fit  and 
simple  character  which  would  at  once  commend  it  to 
the  eye  of  a  practical  man  as  an  available  and  imitable 
feature.  If  I  can  give  such  arrangement  to  simple 


302  MY  FARM. 

boughs,  otherwise  worthless,  or  to  pine-pickets  of 
simple  cost — in  the  paling  of  a  yard,  or  the  tracery 
of  a  gate,  as  shall  catch  the  eye  by  its  grace  of  out 
line,  and  suggest  imitation  by  its  easy  construction, 
and  entire  feasibility,  there  is  some  hope  of  leading 
country  tastes  in  that  direction ;  but  if  work  shows 
great  nicety  of  construction,  puzzling  and  complicated 
detail,  immense  absorption  of  labor  and  material,  it 
might  as  well  have  been — so  far  as  intended  to  en 
courage  farm  ruralities — built  of  Carrara  marble. 

Again  a  stone  wall,  or  dyke,  is  not  generally 
counted  an  object  of  much  beauty,  except  it  be  laid  up 
in  hammered  work  ;  this,  of  course,  is  out  of  the  ques 
tion  for  a  farmer  who  studies  economy :  but  suppose 
that  to  a  substantial  stone  fence  of  ordinary  construc 
tion,  I  am  careful,  by  a  choice  of  topping-stones,  to 
give  unbroken  continuity  to  its  upper  line  ;  and  sup 
pose  that  the  abutments,  instead  of  wearing  the  usual 
form,  are  carried  up  a  foot  or  more  above  this  line  in  a 
rude  square  column,  gradually  tapering  or  *  battering ' 
toward  the  top  ;  suppose  upon  this  top  I  place  a  flat 
stone  nearly  covering  it,  and  upon  this  a  smaller  stone 
some  four  inches  in  thickness,  and  again,  upon  the 
last,  the  largest  and  roundest  boulder  I  can  find.  At 
once  there  is  created  a  graceful  architectural  effect, 
which  gives  a  new  air  to  the  whole  line  of  wall.  Yet 
the  additional  labor  involved  is  hardly  to  be  reckoned. 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  303 

Gates,  in  all  variety,  dependent  on  position  and 
service,  offer  charming  opportunity  for  simple  and 
effective  rural  devices.  Far  away  in  the  garden  it 
may  be  worth  while  to  throw  a  rude  rooflet  over  one, 
where  a  man  may  catch  refuge  from  a  shower ;  in  au- 
other  quarter,  you  may  carry  up  posts  and  link  them 
across  in  rustic  trellis,  to  carry  the  arms  of  some  toss 
ing  vine  ;  a  stile,  too,  where  neighbors'  children,  for 
getful  of  latches,  are  apt  to  stroll  in  for  nuts  or  ber 
ries,  or  on  some  cross-path  to  school,  may,  by  simple 
adjustment  of  log  steps  and  overhanging  roof  of 
thatch,  or  slabs,  take  a  charming  effect,  and  work 
somewhat  toward  the  correction  of  that  unflinching 
and  inexorable  insistance  upon  rights  of  property, 
which  induces  many  a  crabbed  man  to  nail  up  his 
gates,  and  deny  himself  a  convenience^  for  the  sake 
of  circumventing  the  claims  of  an  occasional  stroller. 

Rustic  seats  are  an  old  and  very  common  device ; 
but  with  these,  as  with  gateways  and  palings,  sim 
plicity  of  construction  is  the  grand  essential.  I  see 
them  not  unfrequently  so  fine  and  elaborate,  that  one 
fears  a  shower  may  harm  them  ;  and  when  so  fine  as 
to  suggest  this  fear,  they  had  much  better  be  of  rose 
wood  and  bamboo.  A  simple  bit  of  plank  between 
two  hoary  trunks — held  firmly  in  place  by  the  few 
bits  of  gnarled  oak-limbs  from  which  arms,  legs,  and 
back  are  adroitly — hinted,  rather  than  fashioned — ia 


304  MY  FARM. 

more  agreeable  to  country  landscape,  fuller  far  of 
service  and  of  suggestion,  than  any  of  the  portentous 
rustic-work  in  city  shops. 

The  due  adjustment  of  colors  is  also  a  thing  to  be 
considered  in  the  reckoning  of  rural  effects ;  thus, 
with  my  old  weather-stained  house,  I  do  not  care  to 
place  new  paint  in  contrast ;  the  old  be-clouded  tint 
harmonizes  well  with  the  rustic  work  of  fences  and 
outbuildings  ;  while  away,  upon  the  lawrn,  or  opening 
into  green  fields,  or — better  still — in  the  very  bight 
of  the  wood,  I  give  the  contrast  of  a  brilliant  and 
flashing  white. 

I  am  touching  a  very  large  subject  here,  with  a 
very  short  chapter.  Indeed,  there  is  no  end  to  the 
pretty  and  artistic  combinations  by  which  a  man  who 
loves  the  country  with  a  fearless,  demonstrative  love, 
may  not  provoke  its  rarer  beauties  to  appear. 
Flower,  tree,  fence,  outbuilding — all  wait  upon  his 
hands  ;  and  the  results  of  his  loving  labor  do  not  end 
when  his  work  is  done  ;  but  the  vines,  the  trees,  the 
mosses,  the  deepening  shadows,  are,  year  after  year, 
mellowing  his  raw  handiwork,  and  ripening  a  new 
harvest  of  charms.  And  in  following  these,  I  think 
there  is  an  interest — not  perhaps  quotable  on  'Change 
but  which  rallies  a  man's  finer  instincts,  and  binds 
him  in  leash — not  wearisome  or  galling — to  the  great 
procession  of  the  seasons,  ever  full  of  bounties,  as  of 
beauties. 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  30JI 

Flowers. 

FinilERE  is  a  class  of  men  who  gravitate  to  the 
J_  country  by  a  pure  necessity  of  their  nature ; 
who  have  such  ineradicable  love  for  springing  grass, 
and  fields,  and  woods,  as  to  draw  them  irresistibly 
into  companionship.  Such  men  feel  the  confinement 
of  a  city  like  a  prison.  They  are  restive  under  its 
restraint.  The  grass  of  an  area  patch  of  greensward 
kindles  their  love  into  flame.  They  linger  by  florists' 
doors,  drawn  and  held  by  a  magnetism  they  cannot 
explain,  and  which  they  make  no  effort  to  resist. 
They  are  not  necessarily  amateurs,  in  the  ordinary 
sense  of  that  term.  I  think  they  are  apt  to  be  pas 
sionate  lovers  of  only  a  few,  and  those  the  commonest 
flowers — flowers  whose  sweeet  home-names  reach  a 
key,  at  whose  touch  all  their  sympathies  respond. 

They  laugh  at  the  florist's  fondness  for  a  well 
rounded  holly-hock,  or  a  true-petalled  tulip,  and  ad- 
rnire  as  fondly  the  half-developed  specimens,  the 
careless  growth  of  cast-away  plants,  or  the  accidental 
thrust  of  some  misshapen  bud  or  bulb.  I  suspect  I 
am  to  be  ranked  with  these  ;  my  purchase  of  an  ox- 
eye  daisy  on  the  streets  of  Paris  will  have  already 
damaged  my  reputation  past  hope,  in  the  eyes  of 
the  amateur  florists.  If  these  good  people  could 
eee  the  homely  company  of  plants  that  is  gathered 


306  MY  FARM. 

every  winter  in  my  library  window,  they  would  be 
shocked  still  farther. 

There  is  a  careless  group  of  the  most  common 
ferns ;  a  Rose-geranium,  a  Daphne,  a  common 
Monthly-rose,  are  the  rarest  plants  I  boast  of.  But 
there  are  wood-mosses  with  a  green  sheen  of  velvet ; 
they  cover  a  broad  tray  of  earth  in  rustic  frame-work, 
in  which  the  Geraniums,  the  mosses,  the  Daphne, 
and  a  plant  of  Kenilworth-Ivy  coquette  together. 
An  upper  shelf  is  embossed  with  other  mosses  ;  there 
;,s  a  stately  Hyacinth  or  two  lifting  from  among  them, 
and  wild  ferns  hang  down  their  leaves  for  a  careless 
tangle  with  the  Geraniums  and  Ivy  below.  Above 
all,  and  as  a  drapery  for  the  arched  top,  the  Spanish 
moss  hangs  like  a  gray  curtain  of  silvered  lace. 

A  stray  acorn,  I  observe,  has  shot  up  in  the  tray, 
and  is  now  in  its  third  leaf  of  oak-hood  ;  in  the  cor 
ners,  two  wee  Hemlock-spruces  give  a  background  of 
green,  and  an  air  of  deeper  and  wilder  entanglement, 
to  my  little  winter-garden.  A  bark  covering,  with 
bosses  of  acorn-cups,  and  pilasters  of  laurel-wood, 
sharpened  to  a  point,  make  the  lower  tray  a  field  of 
wildness, — fenced  in  with  Avildness.  The  overhanging 
bridge  (I  called  it  an  upper  shelf)  is  a  rustic  gallery 
— its  balcony  of  twisted  osiers  filled  in  with  white 
mosses  from  old  tree-stumps,  and  the  whole  support 
ed  by  a  rustic  arch  of  crooked  oaken  twigs.  Finally, 


HINDRANCES  AND   HELPS.  30} 

the  cornice  from  which  the  Spanish  moss  is  pendant, 
is  a  long  rod  of  Hazel,  around  which  a  vine  of  Bitter 
sweet  has  twined  itself  so  firmly,  that  they  seem  in 
corporate  together ;  and  to  their  rough  bark  the 
moss  has  taken  so  kindly,  that  it  has  bloomed  two 
fnll  years  after  the  date  of  its  first  occupancy.  There 
are  daintier  hands  than  mine  that  care  for  this  little 
garden  of  wildness,  and  give  it  its  crowning  grace ; 
but  here — I  may  not  speak  their  praise. 

The  other  southern  window  is  at  a  farther  remove 
from  the  open  wood-fire  ;  its  floral  show  is,  therefore, 
somewhat  different ;  and  the  reader  will,  I  trust,  ex 
cuse  me  a  little  particularity  of  description,  since  it 
will  enable  me  to  show  how  much  may  be  done  with 
limited  material  and  space. 

Upon  the  window-sill, — some  eighteen  inches  in 
breadth  by  forty  in  length, — are  placed  four  bits  of 
oak-wood  five  inches  in  length,  squarely  sawn  from  a 
young  forest  tree,  which  serve  as  standards  or  sup 
ports,  to  a  tray  of  plank  five  inches  in  depth,  and  cov 
ered  with  unbarked  saplings,  so  graduated  in  size,  as 
to  make  this  base  (or  tray)  appear  like  the  plinth  of  a 
column.  This  is  filled  with  fine  garden-mould,  and 
there  are  grooves  in  the  plank-bottom  communicating 
with  one  drainage  hole,  beneath  which  is  placed  an 
earthen  saucer.  Fitting  upon  this  tray  is  a  glazed 
case  with  top  sloping  to  the  sun,  and  with  its  quoins 


308  Mr  FARM. 

and  edges  covered  with  bark,  and  embossed  with 
acorn-cups — to  correspond  with  the  base.  The  fitting 
is  not  altogether  so  perfect  as  that  of  a  Wardian  case, 
but  quite  sufficient  for  all  practical  purposes. 

Throughout  the  summer  I  keep  this  little  window- 
garden  stocked  with  the  most  brilliant  of  the  wood 
mosses  ;  a  slight  8}  • -.inkling  once  in  thirty  days  keeps 
them  in  admirable  order ;  and  if  I  come  upon  some 
chrysalis  in  the  garden  whose  family  is  unknown,  I 
have  only  to  lodge  it  upon  my  bed  of  mosses,  and  in 
due  time  I  have  a  butter-fly  captive  for  further  exam 
ination.  As  the  frosts  approach  I  throw  out  my 
mosses,  and  re-stock  my  garden  with  fragrant  violets 
and  a  few  ferns.  These  keep  up  a  lusty  garden  show 
until  January,  when  again  I  change  the  order  of  my 
captives — this  time  incorporating  a  large  share  of 
sand  with  the  earth  in  the  tray — and  setting  in  it  all 
my  needed  cuttings  of  Verbenas,  of  Fuchsias,  and  of 
Carnations.  They  thrive  under  the  glass  magically  ; 
and  by  early  March  are  so  firm-rooted  and  rampant  in 
growth,  that  I  can  pot  them,  for  transfer  to  a  fresh 
laid  pit  out  of  doors.  I  now  amend  the  soil,  and 
sprinkling  it  with  a  dash  of  ammoniacal  water,  sow  in 
it  the  Cockscomb,  Peppers,  Egg-plants,  and  whatever 
fastidious  plants  require  special  care,  while  along  the 
edges  I  prove  my  over-kept  cabbage  and  clover  seed- 
All  these  make  their  way,  and  in  due  time  come  to 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  309 

their  season  of  potting,  when  I  give  up  my  little  gar 
den  to  a  careless  array  of  the  first  laughing  flowers 
of  spring. 

Can  you  tell  me  of  so  small  a  window  anywhere 
that  shows  so  many  stages  of  growth  ?  Nor  have  I 
named  all  even  yet.  A  rustic  arch,  steep  as  the  Ri- 
alto  at  Venice,  overleaps  this  tiny  garden,  and  bears 
upon  its  centre  a  miniature  Swiss  chalet,  while  down 
either  flank,  upon  successive  steps,  are  little  bronze 
mementos  of  travel — among  which  the  delicate  ten 
drils  of  a  German-ivy  (planted  upon  a  ledge  of  its 
own)  intertwine  and  toss  their  tender  leaflets  into  the 
doors  and  windows  of  the  chalet. 

But  I  am  lingering  in-doors,  when  my  book  is  es 
sentially  an  out-of-door  book. 

I  am  not  about  to  lay  down  any  rules  for  flower 
beds  or  for  flower  culture  ;  the  gardening  books  are 
full  of  them ;  and  by  their  aid,  and  that  of  a  dexterous 
gardener,  any  one  may  arrange  his  parterres  and 
his  graduated  banks  of  flowers,  quite  secundum 
artem.  And  I  suppose,  that,  when  completed,  these 
orderly  arrays  of  the  latest  and  newest  floral  wonders 
are  enjoyable.  Yet  I  am  no  fair  judge  ;  the  apprecia 
tion  of  them  demands  a  '  booking-up '  in  floral  science 
to  which  I  can  lay  no  claim.  I  sometimes  wander 
through  the  elegant  gardens  of  my  town  friends, 
fairly  dazzled  by  all  the  splendor  and  the  orderly 


810  MY  FARM. 

ranks  of  beauties  ;  but  nine  times  in  ten — if  I  do  not 
guard  my  tongue  with  a  prudent  reticence,  and  allow 
my  admiration  to  ooze  out  only  in  exclamations — I 
mortify  the  gardener  by  admiring  some  timid  flower, 
which  nestles  under  cover  of  the  flaunting  Dahlias  or 
Peonies,  and  which  proves  to  be  only  some  dainty 
weed,  or  an  antiquated  plant,  which  the  florists  no 
longer  catalogue.  Everybody  knows  how  ridiculous 
it  is  to  admire  a  picture  by  an  unknown  artist ;  and 
I  must  confess  to  feeling  the  fear  of  a  kindred  ridi 
cule,  whenever  I  stroll  through  the  gardens  of  an  ac 
complished  amateur. 

But  I  console  myself  with  thinking  that  I  have 
company  in  my  mal-adroitness,  and  that  there  is  a 
great  crowd  of  people  in  the  world,  who  admire  spon 
taneously  what  seems  to  be  beautiful,  without  wait 
ing  for  the  story  of  its  beauty.  If  I  were  an  adept, 
I  should  doubtless,  like  other  adepts,  reserve  my  ad 
miration  exclusively  for  floral  perfection  ;  but  I  thank 
God  that  my  eye  is  not  as  yet  so  bounded.  The 
blazing  Daffodils,  Blue-bells,  English-cowslips,  and 
Striped-grass,  with  which  some  pains-taking  woman 
in  an  up-country  niche  of  home,  spots  her  little  door- 
yard  in  April,  have  won  upon  me  before  now  to  a 
tender  recognition  of  the  true  mission  of  flowers,  as 
no  gorgeous  parterre  could  do. 

With  such  heretical  views,  the  reader  will  not  be 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  311 

surprised  if  I  have  praises  and  a  weakness  for  tha 
commonest  of  flowers.  Every  morning  in  August, 
from  my  chamber  window,  I  see  a  great  company  of 
the  purple  Convolvulus,  writhing  and  twisting,  and 
over-running  their  rude  trellis,  while  above  and  be 
low,  and  on  either  flank  of  the  wild  arbor,  their  fairy 
chalices  are  beaded  with  the  dew.  A  Scarlet-runner 
is  lost — so  far  as  its  greenness  goes — in  the  tangle 
of  a  hedge-row,  and  thrusts  out  its  little  candelabras 
of  red  and  white  into  the  highway,  to  puzzle  the  pas 
sers-by,  who  admire  it, — because  they  do  not  know  it. 
A  sturdy  growth  of  Nasturtium  is  rioting  around  the 
angle  of  a  distant  mossy  wall,  at  the  end  of  a  woody 
copee — so  far  away  from  all  parterres,  that  it  seems 
to  passers  some  strange,  gorgeous  wild-flower ;  and 
yet  its  blaze  of  orange  and  crimson  is  as  common  and 
vulgar  as  the  wood-fire  upon  a  farmer's  hearth.  Hol 
ly-hocks — so  far  away  you  cannot  tell  if  they  be 
double  or  single  (they  are  all  single) — lift  their  stately 
yellows  and  whites  in  the  edge  of  the  shrubbery ; 
Phloxes,  purple  and  white,  hem  them  in  ;  and  at  their 
season  a  wilderness  of  Roses  bloom  in  the  tangled 
thicket. 

Dotted  about  here  and  there,  in  unexpected  places 
—yet  places  where  their  color  will  shine — are  clumps 
of  yellow  Lilies,  of  Sweet-William,  of  crimson  Peonies, 
of  Larkspur,  or  even  (shall  I  be  ashamed  to  tell  it  ?) 


312  MY  FARM. 

of  Golden-rod  and  of  the  Cardinal  flower  (Lobelia) 
In  a  little  bed  scooped  from  the  turf  and  bordering 
upon  the  nearer  home-walks,  are  the  old-fashioned 
Spider-wort,  and  that  old  white  Lily,  which  Raphael 
makes  the  Virgin  hold  on  the  day  of  her  espousals. 
And  yet  you  may  go  through  half  the  finest  gardens  of 
the  country  and  never  find  this  antiquated  Lily  !  The 
sweet  Violet  and  the  Mignonette  have  their  place  in 
these  near  borders,  as  well  as  the  roses.  Cypress  and 
Madeira  vines  twine,  in  leash  with  the  German  ivy, 
over  a  pile  of  stumps  that  have  been  brought  down 
from  the  pasture ;  under  the  lee  of  a  thicket  of  pines, 
among  lichened  stones  heaped  together,  is  a  group  of 
ferns  and  Lycopodiums ;  and  the  sweet  Lily  of  the  Val 
ley, — true  to  its  nature  and  quality, — thrives  in  a  dark 
bit  of  ground  half  shaded  between  two  spurs  of  a 
bushy  thicket. 

Of  course,  there  are  the  Verbenas,  for  which  every 
year  a  fresh  circlet  of  ground  is  prepared  from  the 
turf,  and  a  great  tribe  of  Gera'niums,  to  bandy  scar 
lets  with  the  Salvias  ;  and  the  Fuchsias,  too — though 
very  likely  not  the  latest  named  varieties ;  nor  are 
they  petted  into  an  isolated,  pagoda-like  show,  but 
massed  together  in  a  little  group  below  the  edge  of 
the  fountain,  where  they  will  catch  its  spray,  and 
where  their  odorless  censers  of  purple  and  white  and 
crimson  may  swing,  or  idle,  as  they  will.  And  among 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  313 

the  mossy  stones  from  amid  which  the  fountain  gur 
gles  over,  I  find  lodging  places,  not  only  for  rampant 
wild-ferns,  but  for  a  stately  Calla,  and  for  some 
showy  type  of  the  Amaryllida?. 

It  is  in  scattered  and  unexpected  places,  that 
I  like  my  children  to  ferret  out  the  wild-flowers 
brought  down  from  the  woods — the  frail  Colombine 
in  its  own  cleft  of  rock, — the  Wild-turnip,  with  its 
quaint  green  flower  in  some  dark  nook,  that  is  like 
its  home  in  the  forest — the  Maiden' s-hair  thriving  in 
the  moist  shadow  of  rocks  ;  and  among  these  trans 
planted  wild  ones  of  the  flower-fold,  I  like  to  drop 
such  modest  citizens  of  the  tame  country  as  a  tuft  of 
Violets,  or  a  green  phalanx  of  the  bristling  Lilies  of 
the  Valley. 

Year  by  year,  as  we  loiter  among  them,  after  the 
flowering  season  is  over,  we  change  their  habitat, 
from  a  shade  that  has  grown  too  dense,  to  some 
summer  bay  of  the  coppices  ;  and  with  the  next  year 
of  bloom,  the  little  ones  come  in  with  marvellous 
reports  of  Lilies,  where  Lilies  were  never  seen  before 
— or  of  fragrant  Violets,  all  in  flower,  upon  the 
farthest  skirt  of  the  hill-side.  It  is  very  absurd,  of 
course ;  but  I  think  I  enjoy  this  more — and  th6  rare 
intelligence  which  the  little  ones  bring  in  with  their 
flashing,  eager  eyes — than  if  the  most  gentlemanly 
gardener  from  Thorburn's  were  to  show  a  Dahlia, 
14 


314  MY  FARM. 

with  petals  as  regular  as  if  they  TV 'ere  notched  by  the 
file  of  a  sawyer. 

Flowers  and  children  are  of  near  kin,  and  too 
much  of  restraint  or  too  much  of  forcing,  or  too 
much  of  display,  ruins  their  chiefest  charms.  I  love 
to  associate  them,  and  to  win  the  children  to  a  love 
of  the  flowers.  Some  day  they  tell  me  that  a  Violet 
or  a  tuft  of  Lilies  is  dead ;  but  on  a  spring  morning, 
they  come,  radiant  writh  the  story, — that  the  very 
same  Violet  is  blooming  sweeter  than  ever,  upon  some 
far  away  cleft  of  the  hill-side.  So  you,  my  child,  if 
the  great  'Master  lifts  you  from  us,  shall  bloom — as 
God  is  good — on  some  richer,  sunnier  ground  ! 

We  talk  thus :  but  if  the  change  really  come, 

it  is  more  grievous  than  the  blight  of  a  thousand 
flowers.  She,  who  loved  their  search  among  the  thick 
ets — will  never  search  them.  She,  whose  glad  eyes 
would  have  opened  in  pleasant  bewilderment  upon 
some  bold  change  of  shrubbery  or  of  paths,  will  never 
open  them  again.  She — whose  feet  would  have  danced 
along  the  new  wood-path,  carrying-  joy  and  merri 
ment  into  its  shady  depths, — will  never  set  foot  upon 
these  walks  again. 

What  matter  how  the  brambles  grow? — her  dress 
will  not  be  torn :  what  matter  the  broken  paling  by 
the  water  ? — she  will  never  topple  over  from  the 
bank.  The  hatchet  may  be  hung  from  a  lower  nail 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  315 

— the  little  hand  that  might  have  stolen  posses 
sion  of  it,  is  stiff— is  fast !  God  has  it. 

And  when  spring  wakens  all  its  echoes — of  the 
wren's  song — of  the  blue-bird's  warble, — of  the  plain 
tive  cry  of  mistress  cuckoo  (she  daintily  called  her 
mistress  cuckoo)  from  the  edge  of  the  wood — what 
eager,  earnest,  delighted  listeners  have  we — lifting 
the  blue  eyes, — shaking  back  the  curls — dancing  to 
the  melody  ?  And  when  the  violets  repeat  the 
sweet  lesson  they  learned  last  year  of  the  sun  and  of 
the  warmth,  and  bring  their  fragrant  blue  petals 
forth — who  shall  give  the  rejoicing  welcome,  and  be 
the  swift  and  light-footed  herald  of  the  flowers? 
Who  shall  gather  them  with  the  light  fingers,  she 
put  to  the  task — who  ? 

And  the  sweetest  flowers  wither,  and  the  sweet 
est  flowers  wait— for  the  dainty  fingers  that  shall 
pluck  them,  never  again  ! 

I?  Envoi. 

I  HAVE  now  completed  the  task  which  I  had  as 
signed  to  myself ;  and  I  do  it  with  the  burden 
some  conviction  that  not  one  half  of  the  questions 
which  suggest  themselves  in  connection  with  Farm- 
life  in  America,  can  be  discussed — much  less  resolved 
— within  so  narrow  a  compass.  Yet  I  have  endeav 
ored  to  light  up,  with  my  somewhat  disorderly  array 


316  MY  FARM. 

of  hints  and  suggestions,  those  more  salient  topics 
which  would  naturally  suggest  themselves  to  all  who 
may  have  a  rural  life  in  prospect,  or  who  may  to-day 
be  idling  or  planning,  or  toiling  under  the  shadow  of 
their  own  trees. 

There  are  no  grand  rules  by  which  we  may  lay 
down  the  proportions  of  a  life,  or  the  wisdom  of  this 
or  that  pursuit ;  every  man  is  linked  to  his  world  of 
duties  by  capacities,  opportunities,  weaknesses,  which 
will  more  or  less  constrain  his  choice.  And  I  am 
slow  to  believe  that  a  man  who  brings  cultivation, 
refinement,  and  even  scientific  attainment,  may  not 
find  fit  office  for  all  of  them  in  country  life,  and  so 
dignify  that  great  pursuit  in  which,  by  the  necessity 
of  the  case,  the  majority  of  the  world  must  be  always 
engaged.  He  may  contribute  to  redeem  it  from  those 
loose,  immethodical,  ignorant  practices,  which  are,  in 
a  large  sense,  due  to  the  farmer's  isolation,  and  to  the 
necessities  of  his  condition.  And  although  careful 
investigation,  study,  and  extended  observation  in 
connection  with  husbandry,  may  fail  of  those  pecu 
niary  rewards,  which  seem  to  be  their  due,  yet 
the  cause  in  some  measure  ennobles  the  sacrifice. 
The  cultivated  farmer  is  leading  a  regiment  in  the 
great  army  whose  foraging  success  is  feeding  the 
world ;  and  if  he  put  down  within  the  sphere  of  his 
influence — riotous  pillage — wasteful  excesses,  and  by 


HINDRANCES  AND  HELPS.  317 

his  example  give  credit  to  order,  discipline,  and  the 
best  graces  of  manhood, — he  is  reaping  honors  that 
will  endure  : — not  measured  by  the  skulls  he  piles  on 
any  Bagdad  plains,  but  by  the  mouths  he  has  fed — 
by  the  flowers  he  has  taught  to  bloom,  and  by  the 
swelling  tide  of  harvests  which,  ye'ar  by  year,  he  has 
pushed  farther  and  farther  up  the  flanks  of  the  hills. 

I  would  not  have  my  reader  believe  that  I  have 
carried  out  as  yet  within  the  limits  of  the  farm  herein 
described  all  that  I  have  advised — whether  in  the 
things  which  relate  to  its  productive  capacity,  or  to 
its  embellishment.  All  this  ripens  by  slow  progres 
sion  which  we  cannot  unduly  hasten.  Nor  do  I  know 
that  full  accomplishment  would  add  to  the  charm ;  I 
think  that  those  who  entertain  the  most  keen  enjoy 
ment  of  a  country  homestead,  are  they  who  regard  it 
always  in  the  light  of  an  unfinished  picture — to  which, 
season  by  season,  they  add  their  little  touches,  or 
their  broad,  bold  dashes  of  color ;  and  yet  with  a 
vivid  and  exquisite  foresight  of  the  future  completed 
charm,  beaming  through  their  disorderly  masses  of 
pigments,  like  the  slow  unfolding  of  a  summer's  day. 

In  all  art,  it  is  not  so  much  the  bald  image  that 
meets  the  eye,  as  it  is  the  crowd  of  suggested  images 
lying  behind,  and  giving  gallant  chase  to  our  fancy — 
which  gives  pleasure.  It  is  not  the  mere  palaces  in 
the  picture  of  Venice  before  my  eye,  which  delight 


318  MY  FARM. 

me,  but  the  r.-uch  of  imagination  behind  and  back  of 
them — the  shadowy  procession  of  Doges — the  gold 
cloth — the  Bucintoro — the  plash  of  green  water  kiss 
ing  the  marble  steps,  where  the  weeds  of  the  Adriatic 
hang  their  tresses,  and  the  dainty  feet  of  Jessica  go 
tripping  from  hall  to  gondola.  It  is  not  the  shaggy, 
Highland  cattle,  with  dewy  nostrils  lifted  to  the 
morning,  that  keep  my  regard  in  Rosa  Bonheur ; — 
but  the  aroma  of  the  heather,  and  of  a  hundred  High 
land  traditions, — a  sound — as  of  Bruar  water, — a 
sudden  waking  of  all  mountain  memories  and  soli 
tudes. 

Again  it  must  be  remembered  by  all  those  who 
have  rural  life  in  anticipation,  that  its  finer  charms, 
and  those  which  grow  out  of  the  adornments  and 
accessories  of  home,  are  dependent  much  more  upon 
the  appreciative  eye  and  taste  of  the  mistress  than 
of  the  master.  >If  I  have  used  the  first  person  some 
what  freely  in  my  descriptions,  it  has  been  from  no 
oversight  of  what  is  justly  due  to  another ;  and  I 
would  have  the  reader  believe — what  is  true — that 
all  the  more  delicate  graces  which  are  set  forth,  and 
which  spring  from  flowers  or  flowering  shrubs,  and 
their  adroit  disposition,  are  due  to  tenderer  hands, 
ud  a  more  provident  and  appreciative  eye  than  mine. 

I  think  that  I  have  not  withheld  from  view  the 
awkwardnesses  and  embarrassments  which  beset  a 


HINDRANCES  AND   HELPS.  319 

country  life  in  NGW  England, — nor  overstated  its 
possible  attractions.  I  have  sought  at  any  rate,  to 
give  a  truthful  picture,  and  to  suffuse  it  all — so  far  as 
I  might — with  a  country  atmosphere  ;  so  that  a  man 
might  read,  as  if  the  trees  were  shaking  their  leaves 
over  his  head, — the  corn  rustling  through  all  its 
ranks  within  hearing,  and  the  flowers  blooming  at  his 
elbow. 

Be  this  all  as  it  may, — when,  upon  this  charming 
morning  of  later  August,  I  catch  sight,  from  my  win 
dow,  of  the  distant  water — where,  as  at  the  first — 
white  sails  come  and  go : — of  the  spires  and  belfries 
of  the  near  city  rising  out  of  their  bower  of  elms — 
of  the  farm  lands  freshened  by  late  rains  into  un 
wonted  greenness  ; — of  the  coppices  I  have  planted, 
shaking  their  silver  leaves,  and  see  the  low  fire  of 
border  flowers  framing  round  their  skirts,  and  hear 
the  water  plashing  at  the  door  in  its  rocky  pool,  and 
the  cheery  voices  of  children,  rejoicing  in  health  and 
the  country  air, — I  do  not  for  a  moment  regret  the 
first  sight  of  the  old  farm  house,  under  whose  low 
browed  ceiling,  I  give  this  finishing  touch  to  the  last 
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